


L'Arc en Ciel

by Dantea



Series: Bray [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Destroy Ending, Dreams, Hurt/Comfort, Mass Effect 3, Mass Effect 3: Omega, Medical Trauma, Military, Multi, Original Character(s), Post Mass Effect 3, Post-Crucible, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Psychological Trauma, Regret, Reunions, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Science Fiction, Trauma, Yep I went there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 22:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 39,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dantea/pseuds/Dantea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Mass Effect 3: Shepard has destroyed the Reapers, and with the Normandy and its crew many lightyears away, she misses Garrus desperately.  But when she finds herself in the care of the Omega fleet, waiting for Garrus' return becomes much less lonely.  Especially with one person in particular.</p><p>Because Bray just...needs less crap details, dammit.</p><p>Trigger warnings will be posted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wake

“Oh she’s alive, all right. But I am not about to let that bastard within a hundred clicks of her without a damn good reason, Jarral.”

A batarian voice? The last voice I expect to hear. Want to hear. 

“So what is it? He _what?_ You’re fucking with… _WHAT!?_ ”

They sound far away somewhere. 

“Fine, then YOU can escort him planetside. He’s gonna have to get Aria’s OK—and the human admiral, Hackett. And if they decide to blow his brains out, it’s not my damn problem.”

I’ve heard this voice before, though. The orange lights, the worried crowds, the shadowy outline of a broken city…somehow relieved that _this_ batarian is alive. And here.

“…Uhnnn…” Sharp inhale. Sharper pain. 

Frantic shuffling of feet, stumbling, gravel, cursing. Quick toe spin. “Oh my god…don’t you dare disconnect…” Spin, crunching, panting, hands on clavicle—

“AAAAH!” Impossible volume. Even more impossible rib expansion. The person removes its damn hands. Hints of that bone-chilling inward echo the batarian voice has. Do I know it? Maybe. No confirmation. Seems no amount of reassurance will help anyway. 

Mindoir. Too many batarian rifles against my head.

“Commander! Shit…sorry.” He was…confused? Surprised?

Flash of awareness, breath of charred air. “Bray?” Coughing brimstone.

Exacerbated sigh. “Yeah. Yeah it is. What’s left of Aria’s company is guarding your position. For better or worse, they’re keeping me with you until—hold on-– _WHAT?_ ” Frustrated silence. Voices in static. Fingers drumming on metal. “Sorry, Commander Shepard. Excuse me.” Yelling. Stomping. Loud. Oddly relaxing. _Aria T’Loak’s personal bodyguard, huh?_ Still not a friendly voice, per se, but not hostile. Aria was no problem…but so help her goddess, her iron-fisted grace had best be setting an example to those in her employ.

I hear Bray yelling decisively at the whoevers on the other end of the comm. They yell back. They should stay and talk.

It’s too damn quiet otherwise.

The racket in the near distance is like a lullaby now. Let them rock me to sleep.

*** * ***

The trees again. Running through the crying, the scared, the scarred, the dying, the mangled, the metallic. Human, salarian, asari, drell. Burning leaves drift to the ground. Vorcha, krogan, hanar, elcor, batarian…turian. Humans. So many humans. So quiet. So dark. Mordin, Thane, Legion, EDI, Reegar. Udina, Ashley…Anderson. 

And…Garrus. _I told him to leave…I told you to leave, god damn it. Spirits damn it. Spirits keep you…my love._ And they all burn.

*** * ***

I’m jolted awake by shotgun fire, followed by the electric death throes of a husk. Looks like the Crucible wasn’t perfect. _Oh well. A few husks aren’t a big deal at this point._ My throat is on fire, my face drenched with sweat. My surroundings felt colder. A gust of wind rushed through. Not as cold as it should be.

I turned toward some voices. _Please come. Please, please come._ I was so confused. I tried calling for someone, anyone, but no sound came. I tried heaving my eyes open, but my lids seemed to be welded shut. Why? Why after why after cursed why. _Where did everyone go?_

My tongue is heavy. My heart is glass. I tightened my eyelids against tears, but their will was far stronger than mine. The salt water poured down my temples into my ears, and my surroundings melted into a diluvial haze. I twisted my face against my own sorrow, my lips parting wide for a scream only I could hear. Nothing can erase what I have seen. Nothing can erase what I have lost. _And I couldn’t possibly be more selfish, could I?_ Over and over, I forced my broken heart up out of my throat. _Get it out._ My lungs didn’t care how many broken ribs I had. They needed oxygen. And all I wanted was a spark to set it ablaze.

A damp cloth assaulted my face. Like getting slapped by a pissed-off kitten. The water burned for a second, and I snarled and thrashed my arm against a cement wall. My emotional reflexes were completely fucked. 

The cloth glided deliberately over my forehead, my cheeks, my neck; like it was on some kind of mission to calm me down. I took a deep breath. _Fine, have your goddamn mission._ I closed my pathetic lips, my breathing still staccato and obvious to whichever five-fingered person attended me. 

The person re-wetted the cloth and brought it to the side of my neck. They were painfully gentle; their strokes tender and attentive. I just let my tears make their own way. It wasn’t worth the fight. They dabbed over my ears, brushing back what was left of my hair. Then a brief pause, and a deep, familiar whisper to a colleague. Bray. I tried to stifle my relief, but I half-smiled anyway. 

I inhaled, and my throat spasmed as it choked out the last traces of my humiliating indiscipline. I felt Bray set the cloth to my eyes, pressing carefully on one, then the other. It was so gentle; so very free of malice. _Is this…kindness? From a batarian?_ This wasn’t the touch of an enemy. It made no sense. 

As he worked around my brow, I felt him wave to someone with his other hand. This someone had quick, sharp footsteps and said not one word as they unfurled their woolen-sounding cargo and draped it over me. Bray wrung out his cloth and knelt beside me, ordering the other person away. He paused a moment, stabling himself on the side of the cot I was laid on. I could hear him, breathing in the last of the daylight and cracking his knuckles on his knee. It was the kind of pensive, calculated cracking I’d often heard from Anderson when we’d had to sit through Council deliberations and Udina’s rants together. Things we would never see together again. The memory of his loss rippled down my arm, and I moved my fingers. My heart throbbed painfully under the weight of his absence. 

But it was so good to feel again. 

Bray brought the cloth to my temple and held it there, letting my own body heat warm it. I felt his head drop and slowly rise again as he lifted and pressed, pulsing slowly down the paths my tears had carved across my face. Over and over, each motion erasing the secret we now share—a human soldier, and this cosmically unusual batarian mercenary. I could not bring myself to call it trust—yet there it was, radiating inside my chest like a wonderful memory.

He draped the rag across my eyes, placing his hand just above my nose to protect me from aspirating as he poured water over it. It soothed to my core, and I whined to indicate my appreciation for his care. He drew his fingertips slowly down my scalp, again and again, each time slowing my breath a little more; each time tacitly asking for any trust I could give. 

In the end, his patience alone was enough. With all the strength I could muster, I lifted my hand and timidly touched his face, beholding my caregiver as I was able. Bray’s four eyes were closed, his lids slightly damp and trembling, tensing the ridges on his crown. I turned an apologetic shade of red. Had I intruded in a moment was not meant to see?

I shivered as Bray’s free hand slid into mine. I opened my palm as his fingers softly wove between mine, accepting his touch with a gratitude I’d no idea I still possessed. He freed his other hand and closed us around each other, the pulses in our wrists syncing as if all history between our peoples had vanished. Then he bowed, pulling our intertwined fingers to rest on his forehead. 

Somehow, I knew he was praying. Praying to dead gods for a human he barely knew. And there we stayed in silence, until the sun left to rouse the other side of the world.

_How bold you are, batarian. How bold and strange._


	2. In Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard is coming to, slowly but surely. One familiar face gives her hope for the legacy of those lost, while the promise of another makes her trigger finger itchy.

I woke as evening fell. It was colder, and I had the eerie feeling more than just a few moments had passed. I heard Bray’s voice in the doorway, the occasional rat-tat-tat of a Mattock in the distance, the muttering of a couple asari in the hallway, Aria’s order-barking somewhere below me. The only light I saw came from the bombed-out hallway just outside, where some of the fixtures, miraculously, still worked. I shifted my right arm a bit, the slight pinch of an intravenous catheter reminding me that I was alive.

The outline of a tall salarian appeared in the doorway. I blinked.

“Oh, Commander Shepard! You’re awake!” I could hear and see a stethoscope clack against a pistol as he trotted over to me. _OK, weird._

“Unnnh?” I sat up.

The salarian popped the IV out, immediately wrapping the puncture site. I yawned as he took hold of my upper arms, wiggling me about like a puppet.

“You’re moving rather well, I see! Good, very good!” He scribbled on a small clipboard on the wall. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Which one?” 

“Your left one, Commander.” He waved his hand dismissively, waiting for me to assess. I felt a slight twinge in my left shoulder as the joint popped, and I rubbed it a little, the bone-dry skin indicating that it had been wrapped for quite a while. I counted a line of twenty-one stitches starting near the end of my collarbone and ending in the middle of my shoulder blade. Probably a dislocation.

“Okay, I guess. Thanks. So, how long was I out?”

He popped his gloves off. “Since you last woke? Two solar days. Since you were recovered? Twenty-nine.” _Jesus._ “We tried to keep you sedated so the healing process could do its work.”

He laughed when I raised an impatient eyebrow. “Commander, some of us here know how you operate. You wouldn’t have stayed still for five minutes if we hadn’t. Our periodic Citadel raids have managed to get us quite the stash from the mostly un-livable wards, so it wasn’t hard.” The salarian smirked familiarly.

_Cheeky bastard._

“Well damn, doctor, I sure hope you’re not using all of that stash on me,” I chided.

“Not to fret, Commander Shepard. There has been no shortage of people in need of this stuff,” he assured me. 

The doctor flicked a syringe and stuck me without so much as a “this won’t hurt a bit.” Quick, but not painless. I winced and raised my eyebrows. He gritted his teeth apologetically. 

“Antibiotics, Commander: for the bullet wound. You were hit with an exploding round.” _Oh yeah, the marauder._ “Healing has been slow, relatively speaking.”

“Huh? Relative to what?” I asked. He tilted the cot up and handed me a cup of water.

“Your synthetic implants have sped your natural processes significantly, but infection still takes time to heal. While you’re recovering faster than most, we still have to monitor the wound. But the good news is that you’re over eighty percent through your medication cycle, and you should come out with nothing more than a really huge scar!” He exclaimed, with that morbid glee most doctors acquire after one too many tough cases. 

I laughed as I sipped, unceremoniously coughing on a few drops of water going down the wrong pipe. _Ow, ribs._ “Thanks. Hope it comes out looking like a nebula or something. You know, your people really didn’t have to do all this for some human.” 

“Oh, _au contraire,_ Commander,” he lectured, amused.

Bray, who had been standing in the doorway smoking a cigarette, turned around. “Don’t be so modest, Shepard. You got us our base back from Cerberus. We owe you a few,” he interjected. I blushed. 

_Wasn't it that Cathka guy I zapped in the back that one time who said tobacco was the only useful thing humans brought to the table?_

The salarian nodded briskly. “You gave all of us our lives back,” he began, “and in my case, you did it _at least_ twice.” He beamed. “Dr. Maelon Heplorn at your service, Commander.” 

I shook his hand. _He made it._ “Nice not to be meeting you down the sight of a shotgun again, Maelon.” 

He laughed guiltily. “To be fair, there could have been no fitter view for our first meeting. I was…confused, to say the least. I heard about what Dr. Solus did on Tuchanka. I am so sorry. In spite of our history, I had hoped to meet him again and try to make amends, but regrettably, I can now only hope that he can hear me across the universe somewhere.”

Maelon muttered something to himself and wandered away urgently, keeping himself busy by rearranging the contents of the steel cupboard on the far wall. It reminded me of Mordin’s little nervous tics that appeared whenever we butted heads over the ethics of the genophage. His favorite one had been inserting slide after slide into the microscope to avoid eye contact.

“Relax, Maelon. It’s okay.” 

He slowed down a bit and sighed, a pair of forceps clattering to the floor. “I think one of the last words I said to him was ‘atrocity.’ Whether it was true or not doesn’t matter to me anymore.” 

“Mordin was not proud of your methods, Maelon. You know that. But you know what he was proud of? Your nerve, and your heart. Without your research, there would have been no cure. He knew it, I knew it, and most importantly, the krogan knew it. He died proud of you. You can be sure of that.”

Maelon shook his head and refilled my empty cup. “Ha…I’ll need some time to process that.” He motioned to Bray, who nodded and walked out on an errand. “I hope someday to be half the man he was. But until then, I have a lot to atone for.”

“Well, it looks like you’re well on your way.” I raised my glass.

“Thank you, Commander. I hope to truly earn that sentiment from you someday.” Maelon paused, briefly dashing out the door to reconnoiter for curious ears. He took his time walking back, and I could see an urgent secret written across his face. 

“How has Aria’s—er, _your_ bodyguard treated you? Well, I hope?” He sounded concerned.

“Yeah, he’s been…great, actually. Why?”

“Oh, well, I just assumed with the history between batarians and…you know what, never mind. I’m just letting my xenophobic pseudo-empathy get the best of me.” 

_No surprise there._ “It’s all right, Maelon. I understand. I appreciate it.”

Maelon tapped his fingers on a steel rolling table in the center of the room. “In all honesty, I have no idea why I asked. Bray is a good man. He even volunteered to help keep vorcha away from my clinic on his off days. Volunteered! Expected nothing. He’s no saint, certainly, but…you know, come to think of it, never heard much bad about humans from him. Not a word. You should have _heard_ what he has said about _you,_ Commander. Not a word, not a word.” His nervousness was hilarious.

_Yep…he’s definitely Mordin’s student._

He beckoned me to listen, those large, watery eyes darting about like a jittery schoolboy’s. “Between you and me, Commander, he’s hardly left this room since we found you.” I gave Maelon a look that said “really?” He shrugged.

At that moment, Bray returned, an extra blanket under his arm and a worried look on his face. Maelon nodded at me. _Act natural._

“Please let me know if you need anything at all, Commander Shepard. In the meantime, I believe the captain has something for you.”

I tipped an imaginary hat to him. “Take good care, Dr. Heplorn.” He took his leave. 

It was so good to see Maelon. I wished dearly that my friend could have been there to see how much his student had grown. But then a thought: I had personally never been big on the whole afterlife bit, but there were certain people in the universe whose presence was simply too immense to stay confined to one slice of existence. I smiled. Mordin would always be around.

Bray closed the door behind him, switching a low-power lantern on and placing it on a table near me. He flicked the cigarette butt through the window and lit another, pulling an extra from his pocket and offering it to me. I pulled the blankets up around my neck, half-attempting to look professional as he placed it between my teeth and struck a match. It was the sweetest thing I had ever tasted.

“Commander, I have some news,” he began. “We might have a visitor in few days.” He exhaled, clearly vexed. “And I’m going to warn you now…you’re not going to like who it is.”

I took a long pull. “Lay it on me.” 

“His name is Ka'hairal Balak, and he is, unfortunately, the only thing the rest of my people have left to call a leader. I’m sorry; I know that you are somewhat well acquainted.” He sensed me roll my eyes in anger. “Through tapping some low-profile human comms, he figured out that you’d been recovered, but he doesn’t know you’re alive.” 

The last time Balak and I had met, I watched him walk away, barely resisting the urge to give C-Sec a KOS order. At this moment, there was no decision I regretted more. _Genocidal fuck._

I let out a cynical laugh. “Perfect,” I growled.

He sighed, blowing a perfect smoke ring at the ceiling. “I know this isn’t much consolation, but if he shows any malicious intent at all, he’s not making it out of here with his skull in one piece. The human and krogan troops in the area are going to be coming armed to the teeth when we get word; plus what we’ve got here, which is quite a lot. We’ve got your back, Shepard.”

It was guarantee enough for now. “Thank you, Bray.”

I heard the familiar boot of an omnitool. “Also, the human admiral sent a message for you if we found you alive. It’s dated twenty-three solar days ago, so I don’t know what’s happened since then.”

“…oh?” 

The message played. “Commander.” Admiral Hackett’s voice. _Thank god._ “The crew of the _Normandy _came out on Sur’Kesh. They needed extensive repairs, but they are running again. They are currently making a diplomatic stop through Palaven on their way back to Earth. The quarian admiral Tali’Zorah is still aboard; she and Moreau are working on EDI, and they will know soon if she can be saved.__

"Per Doctor Chakwas’ and Flight Lieutenant Moreau’s request, I am not going to inform the remaining crew of your status until they reach Earth in a few weeks, both for security reasons and for the sake of the crew’s stability.”

 _No one knows I’m alive…_

Hackett paused. I could hear paper crinkling. “And Shepard…about the turian in your crew, Garrus Vakarian.” 

My heart stopped. 

“Dr. Chakwas confirmed that he is alive. He will make a full recovery.” My throat swelled. “Godspeed, Commander. Hackett out.”


	3. Are You Real?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard begins to realize how much damage the war has really done to her. Meanwhile, a friend looks on, holding many secrets of his own.

Garrus was alive. _Alive. Alive. Alive._ I repeated it to myself, not knowing or caring if out loud or not. I had seen Garrus take a shot in the neck and collapse before the _Normandy’s_ shuttle hatch closed, and I couldn’t save him. I didn’t have time to cry. And even if I had, I couldn’t have anyway.

I touched my left thumb to my pinky finger, my heart skipping a beat upon finding the ring Garrus had given me on our last shore leave was still there. He’d turned into such a delightfully awkward basket case when he tried to explain what the gesture meant to him as a turian. It was almost like he’d prepared a speech for me and promptly forgotten it—like he always did. _Don’t you dare change on me, blue eyes._

I twisted the thin band around my finger. No doubt the thing was in serious need of cleaning now.

_Like me._

And I laughed. And laughed. Again and again. The kind of deep-stomached, convulsive laugh that hurts for hours afterward; the kind one has just after a brush with death. Pain shot through every bone in my body, through my head, down my spine. _And I just ain’t inclined to give a damn._

_Garrus. Is. Alive._

_And…nowhere._

Like a light switch, my explosive joy turned to crushing aloneness. The two looked much the same on my face anymore; the disguise had become second nature. People who cared around me had a tendency to die. They couldn’t know when I felt helpless, lest they do something stupid to try and fix it. I could not, _would not,_ let another Mordin, another Anderson, another Thane, happen on my watch. No more death. 

But the fact remained that things will always, in fact, go bump in the night. And I was utterly terrified.

I tempered my hysterics after a time and looked at Bray. The pale-skinned batarian stood at a comfortable distance, arms folded and staring vacantly through the window into the hazy night. I briefly saw the half-moon reflected in his four eyes, the light fading as a couple of wispy storm clouds passed in front of it. 

Bray’s facial ridges created a striking marbled pattern under the moon shadow, unlike any other batarian I had seen. I found it to be really quite beautiful, even though the post-Mindoir and X57 propaganda circulated by Terra Firma had tried its best to teach me (and the rest of humanity) otherwise. To them, there was no beauty, no sympathy, no remorse, in anyone who looked like the enemy. 

And for a very long time, I couldn’t help but agree.

He wore a torn t-shirt, bullet-riddled greaves, and a piece of an Archon visor which hung around his neck by a chain. _Sentimental, perhaps?_ He was one of, what, maybe a few million batarians left in this galaxy? The Reapers had destroyed all of their worlds before the rest of us knew what hit them. Khar’shan, Erszbat…Aratoht. All of them had lost something, somewhere, someone. _Of course it is, you idiot._ My heart sank. While I had hope of people out there waiting for me, I had no way of knowing if Bray could say the same. 

I ached for the batarians. Of all the horrible things I had seen and done in this war, my greatest demon by far was Aratoht. The mission: get a colleague out alive. The reality: three hundred four thousand, nine hundred forty-two beings; women, men, children: all dead. The galaxy knew it had to be done. I knew it had to be done. But I hated it, and the batarians hated me for it. _As well they should._ No one could ever know how much it tortured me. The only batarian who had known was now dead because I’d disconnected his life support at his request. To join his family, he’d said.

My silence alerted Bray, and he turned, arms falling to his sides.

I choked. “I’m sorry, Bray. Thank you…so much…for relaying that message for Hackett.” Our eyes met briefly before I turned away in shame. It was too much.

“Shepard…” He said something else, but the ringing in my ears drowned his voice. _So this is what regret sounds like._

A thunderclap erupted outside, and the scent of rain wafted in through the broken windows. As I blew the last of the cigarette smoke out through my nose, a lightning flash painted sinister shadows across the broken sheetrock, the silhouettes of shattered buildings looming like the end of a waking dream. Two fluorescent light fixtures swung to and fro in the wind, held up by little more than wires and wishes. A hole in the ceiling across the room had been patched with a piece of plywood, and I could hear two patrollers above us trading stories, both reminiscing about life that had been and fretting about life that might be. One voice sounded vaguely turian, and more than a little panicked. I couldn’t blame him.

In my reverie, I did not see Bray move. He startled me as he sat down on the floor, crossing his legs and resting his arm on the edge of the cot while I made idle patterns in the ceiling tiles with my eyes. He sighed and clasped his hands. 

“My kind and yours may have a history, Shepard, but I need you to know that I don’t think it’s right. And if you’re the kind of person I think you are, you don’t either.” It was as though he’d read my mind. 

“That relay had to be destroyed, Commander. I won’t lie, though: thinking about it isn’t…I lost my sister on Aratoht.” He paused, ruminating. “I also know damn well that she would rather have died than be a slave. Many in the Bahak system felt that way. I know that just saying that won’t fix your head, but you need to know it anyway.” Without looking at him, I nodded. He was right.

“She’s not the only person I’ve lost to this war.” I felt Bray’s hand on my shoulder. “Please forgive my forwardness, Commander.” Bray took my hand and placed it on the Archon fragment. I felt his heartbeat in the center of his chest. 

“My best friend wore this visor. He was a brilliant tech—rough around the edges, but a good man. No one ever thought that trait would be his downfall. He was killed almost two years ago in a Blue Suns raid.” 

_A Blue Suns raid? Wait, it can’t be…_ The look in Bray’s eyes confirmed it.

“Shepard, I know that Garrus Vakarian was Archangel. And I also know that crazy turian did all he could for him.” His voice was too soft, too forgiving.

“Do me a favor.” He removed the chain from his neck and placed it around mine. I looked at him, questioning. “Give this to him when you see him again.” He placed two fingers under my chin and lifted my gaze to his. “And don’t you ever, _ever_ let him go.” 

I stared at the chain, and at Bray. Since Aratoht, the phantoms of his people voyaged the caverns of my mind almost nightly, leaving footprints for me to ponder later. My waking hours were unbearable at times, whether or not I consciously recalled these dreams. Each new memory built upon the last. For months now, Garrus had been one of the few memories that didn’t instantly have me mentally twitching in a corner. But looking at Bray now; this living, breathing, forgiving avatar of my sins, gave me hope that one day, powerful new memories would find their way in spite of myself. For the first time in months, I smiled.

 _If you’re still here when I wake, I might believe you’re real._

I placed my hand on his wrist. “Would you do me a favor as well?” 

Bray laughed awkwardly and shrugged. 

“First of all, you can just call me Ciel. And second,” I took a deep breath, “please just…stay for a while?”

Bray tilted the cot back down and sat next to me. And as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me against him, I did not resist. 

“Hehe…so now I get to be in that little group who knows the galaxy’s biggest secret.” He leaned mischievously into my ear. “You sure you can trust a batarian with it?”

I placed my hands on his. “I dunno, Bray. How far do you think I could throw ya?”

“Pretty damn far, Shepard.” He pulled me closer. “Pretty damn far.” 

As I drifted off, Bray held me tightly to his chest, leaning his head on my shoulder with the audacity and commitment of an old friend. _And now that this war is over, you can be._

At this moment, I knew there was no one in a 5-lightyear radius I would rather have near me.

_Just promise not to hate me if I punch you in my sleep._


	4. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lines between waking and dreams blur as visions of the past collide with a turbulent present.

Waking up next to a batarian was the last thing I thought I’d ever do—right up there with being in a committed relationship with a turian. But in either case, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I hadn’t slept well, per se, but then again, I hadn’t slept much at all in the months before my crew and I landed on Earth. Compared to that, I’d slept like the dead.

 _Terrible metaphor._

The sun had barely started rising, giving me just enough light to see vague details in the room. I tilted my head up just enough to see the door, and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw it was still bolted. Maelon was sitting just outside, quietly chatting with a colleague and, from the sound of things, cleaning some kind of fairly large firearm. Never had I thought that the quick, halting cadence of salarian speech could be this soothing.

I turned and looked at Bray. He faced toward the wall; his breathing slow and rhythmic. I stroked his forehead, pleased when he didn’t wake. 

_Even more so that you are warm, and so very real, my friend._

When we first met months ago back on the Citadel, my first impulse was to distrust him. To be fair, I distrusted a lot of people who wanted something from me because of who they thought I was, but Bray’s particular brand of directness startled me into listening, even though I wasn’t sure of his motives. It definitely didn’t help his case that he was a) a batarian and b) working for a woman whom I both deeply admired and hated at the same time. I had no way of knowing whether his friendliness toward me masked a more sinister agenda—that was often how Aria T’Loak operated, after all. And even though he’d proved himself a gifted tactician and a capable fighter, I still hadn’t been willing to surrender my doubts for a long time.

But when all was said and done on Omega, I could not put all the pieces together without including him in the equation. Every step of the way, Bray had been there. He had watched, waited, and taken shots when they needed to be taken. He got us in, covered the front lines, and got me back to the _Normandy_ when he could have thrown me out an airlock at any time. He didn’t waver, even once. The man was incredible math.

I pulled the blanket around him so he wouldn’t be disturbed. In the grey dawn, I was finally able to see my body. Maybe now I could understand what kind of injuries I had sustained. As I swung my stitched and bruised legs over the side of the cot, I noticed I was wearing nothing but a white tank top and a pair of black briefs, probably given to me by Aria. My face suddenly burned. Nearly naked, next to a batarian. This was going to be an interesting story to tell Garrus later. 

_If I ever see him again._

I pulled my shirt out and found my chest wrapped in tight bandages. I was not surprised; they were probably put on after chest tube insertion. They looked fresh, with very little blood staining. The bullet wound Maelon had told me about was also covered, but I could feel how far it stretched across my side. A lock of hair fell across my eye, and I scratched my scalp absentmindedly, noticing that I had a bit less than before. The memory of the smell of burning hair suddenly returned to me in a psychosomatic burst, and I twitched. 

Verily, I’d had just about enough of sitting on this busted ass of mine.

I braced against the wall and stood. Though my legs were shaky, they still worked, and I slowly crossed the room toward the windows. It seemed like a pretty clear view—maybe I could get a better idea of where I was. 

I swallowed a yelp when I smacked my toe on something jagged, but the identity of the stray object rendered the pain insignificant. At my feet were the shattered remains of my armor, which lay untouched by the dawn breaking through the nearby windows. I bent down and traced the outline of the barely-recognizable N7 emblem, the hole where the exploding round had pierced my side, the trails of caked blood, the spot where Harbinger’s tungsten laser had welded a shoulder plate to the torso sheath. Pretending the memories were blurry made them only slightly easier to bear. I recoiled and staggered back on my heels. It was best to leave this where it lay.

My tags and the Archon visor fragment Bray had given me softly clinked against the concrete brick wall as I leaned out the northeast window. The glass and the frames had clearly been blown out by some kind of shockwave, but the debris had long since been removed. I spotted a sign across the street that read “Vincent Square.” Such a beautiful view it must have been. Aside from the charred trees and hedges, there was little debris for at least a four-block radius. This was once a field; a field where people had talked and laughed, loved and lingered.

The good thoughts quickly faded. With the promise of Balak’s impending arrival fresh in my mind, I could almost see him standing down there in the ashes, waiting for his chance to end me; the livid yellow stripes on his scalp a warning to all of the dangerous mind inside. I remembered the batarian ambassador who had attended my legal proceedings in Vancouver; he’d given me a message from Balak after our last meeting on the Citadel:

“You and I walk free, Commander. Rest assured, _you_ will only do so as long as our alliance is needed.” The kind ambassador’s profuse apology to me afterward hardly made it better. 

Aria was not going to make it easy for Balak to get to me, certainly—her trophies are always well-guarded, and I was no exception. Unfortunately for her, I had half a mind to put Balak’s gun to my own head, and I was not known to stand down once I declared intent, no matter how outmatched I was. 

_Cut out the middle man with extreme prejudice._

A rogue breeze rattled the dry branches of the trees around the square. I yearned for Anderson. Had I only been stronger, faster, smarter, we would be standing here together. I heard his voice, telling me stories about his early career, about his childhood, about Kahlee. I had told myself that someday after the war, I was going to tell him just how much his support and mentorship meant to me, to my crew, to the galaxy. He had been more than a teacher, more than a friend, more than a father to me. Now he would never know.

The Citadel beam lurked in the distance, glowing dimly in the pre-sunrise like a mirage. The ethereal chthonic monolith released the whispers of a thousand thousand generations over the land, and they glided away on the westerly breezes to refuges unknown. It was possible that no one had ever tried to count every lost soul, to listen to every silenced voice; and standing here as the cold zephyrs of early autumn carried them past, I could understand why no one had. The hard empiricism of reality was no longer enough to disprove these spirits. 

_Here, there be Reapers. Here, always be Reapers._

I stared for a long time, only marginally aware of the numbness in my fingers from gripping the frigid windowsill so tightly. I rubbed my dry, tearless eyes. _Let ghosts rest, Ciel._ I grabbed a towel from the cupboard and threw it over my armor. Maybe I could bury it with Anderson when I got out of here. 

I stumbled in my solipsistic stupor and came down hard, smacking my head against the wall. Frustrated and tormented, I slumped against it, resting my head between my bruised knees and fiddling with my tags. 

SPCT/N7 SHEPARD  
CDR CIEL R.  
ESY 4.11.54  
SKB: SOT 

The letters blurred through tears. I wasn’t sure what they even meant anymore. I missed my crew. I missed my captain. I missed my late comrades, friends, family. I missed Commander Bailey, the councilors, every damn bureaucrat up on that stupid Citadel. I even missed the fucking Illusive Man, for godsake. 

And I missed Garrus. One of the most respected figures in the galaxy at the ripe old age of 30, the best shot in Council space, and the most unyielding partner anyone could ask for. 

_The fantastic, beautiful, incomparable moron who settled for me._

I played with the ring on my little finger. It was nothing flashy; just a simple rose gold band with one small blue stone embedded in the center. But the simplicity was the beauty of it. It was just like him. 

“You are love to me, Ciel,” he’d said as he slipped it on.

I closed my ring hand around the Archon fragment that had belonged to a batarian whom I would never know, and that Garrus had almost given his life to avenge. The man was so reckless, so impulsive, so determined. But his youth made him no less caring, no less kind, no less wise. He was broken in so many places, but he had not said yes so I could fix him. 

He’d said yes so he could fix me.

I woke in the cot to find Maelon busy restocking his cabinet. Bray had carried me. He wasn’t going to let me lose it either.


	5. No Pep Talk Like a Military Pep Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much to her surprise, Ciel Shepard has to get ready for action, and gets to whip some recruits into shape in the process. But when she learns where they're going, she wishes she wasn't awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the action starts and the OCs come marching in!

“SHEPARD!” A tall, young krogan in bullet-riddled Blood Pack armor interrupted my escapist daydreams when he shoved a Carnifex in my face, butt first. Not my idea of a polite introduction. 

“Yeah?” 

My nonchalant response pissed him off, and he waggled the pistol again.

“Take this.” I quirked an eyebrow. “Take it NOW!” he demanded. I swiped it from him and hopped out of the window well, wincing at the sudden pain in my ribs.

“Where’s Bray?” I grunted.

“Working on coordinating another Citadel raid. He sent me. Oh, and Aria sent these. Something about ‘get Shepard’s lazy ass out of that bat cave.’”

The krogan tossed me two bags, gesturing to the blue vinyl one. I opened it, setting the large canvas bag aside. Inside were six applications of medigel and… _oh god I LOVE you, woman_ …three unopened personal injectors of surgical-grade morphine. Illegal on most Council homeworlds. I tore open a package and jammed the needle on the inside of my abraded elbow. _Sweet, sweet victory._

The boy leaned against the wall and cleaned his rifle, glancing at me every so often as if to track my progress. I raised my eyebrow incredulously, motioning to my scantily-clad lower half. _Come on, get with the program here._ With an apologetic grit of his teeth, he ran out into the hallway, returning with a pair of olive-colored cargo pants. He was fascinatingly eager to serve.

I pulled my pants on and motioned to a hand mirror on the rolling table.

“So, what’s going on, Mister…uhm…” 

“Name’s Kredak.” His chest puffed proudly. I stifled a laugh. _Oh god…seriously?_

The krogan certainly loved telling tales of their fabled warlords, but I’d never met one who was actually named for them. 

The krogan took a bold step forward, handing me the mirror. “What’s so funny, human?” 

I held up one finger—truly universal code for “wait a bloody minute.” Holding the mirror, I investigated the two or so inches left of my dirty auburn hair. It looked surprisingly kempt, like someone had the good graces to even it a bit while I was out. I pulled it back and examined the wicked laceration across my face from the left side of my forehead to just under my right temple, where it split into a Y. I smirked. 

_Garrus is going to either love this or laugh his ass off._

Kredak cleared his throat impatiently, and I put the mirror down, sizing him up. His eggplant-hued plates were smaller than Grunt’s had been when I let him out of the tank. It was quite possible this kid hadn’t gone through the Rite yet—there was not a scar on the lad save the ones he’d recently earned, which were covered by bandages. Come to think of it, there were a lot of bandages on him. _A lot of really bad patrols with really good reflexes._

I looked into his crimson eyes for a second, then down at his fist when he curled his lip at me. The signature blue aura of a biotic. I was impressed. Biotic, tall, uncommonly colored, well-spoken, genophage-free…and in the Blood Pack. 

_So much wasted potential._

I scraped some dirt off the pistol’s trigger. “Tell you what, _Kredak_ …I’ll tell you if you tell me. What’s going on here?”

He grunted, annoyed. “Balak, you know, that batarian the captain mentioned? He’s headed for these coordinates with some of his corps in tow.” Kredak turned away like a petulant child.

“Aaaaaaand?”

He snapped his head toward me, huffing. “And that’s pretty much all we know. We haven’t heard squat from the human forces or anyone else. The QECs to them got screwed up by a couple of husks, and they’re still down for repair.” Each sentence ended on a higher pitch. Someone was getting antsy.

At the moment, though, I was less concerned with Kredak’s whining than I was with Omega’s technical difficulties. _Fucking convenient._

I held up my pistol. “Got any more of these? Or a shotgun, maybe?”

Kredak slammed his fist down on the table. “I _gave_ you my piece, human. Now pay up. What’s so damn funny?”

I smirked, locking a clip into the pistol and placing my hand on my hip. _Time to teach this kid some respect._

“So…Warlord Kredak, eh? Your parents must have thought highly of themselves.” 

_Boom._

“What? WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?!” Kredak seized my collar with one strong hand and yanked me off my feet, slamming me against the wall and twisting my tags uncomfortably tight around my neck. 

“Both of my parents were damn fine people, human,” he snarled, his breath hot on my face, “and you would do well to remember that.”

I grinned, and he growled in response, threatening me by narrowing the distance between us. “Have something else you wanna say, _h u m a n?_ ”

I winked at a couple of nervous asari troopers peeking in the doorway. I GOT this. I steadied myself by hanging onto the arm that held me. _Ready to pounce._

“Kredak…look outside, buddy.” He did, shaking me a bit for effect. “You see those ruins out there?” I pointed angrily out the window into the view of the apocalyptic landscape our bombed-out stronghold afforded us.

“Yeah, and what about ‘em?”

I snarled and grabbed his shoulder armor, pulling myself right up in his face. “How many _dead soldiers_ do you think are out there, Kredak?” Mortally serious.

The question gave Kredak pause, and he loosened his grip slightly. “I would bet…there are whole worlds full.”

“Damn right, kid.” _You have no idea how right._ “Now, tell me something else. Where are you standing right now?”

“In this…room. I am standing in this room.”

“That’s right. And WHY are you standing in this room, Kredak?”

Kredak backed up, lowering me a few inches closer to the floor. “Because...I am alive.” _Right for the jugular._

He dropped me, but instead of bracing myself so I would not fall, I fired a biotic pull and grabbed his armor with both hands, pulling our faces together. He dared not look away now.

“WHY THE HELL ARE YOU ALIVE, KREDAK?! RIDDLE ME THIS!” I screamed.

“Because…because I did not sacrifice, human!”

“IT’S COMMANDER, PRIVATE!” I swallowed some saliva. My throat was giving out, but I had to keep it up.

“Commander! Commander Shepard!”

“NOT GOOD ENOUGH, BOY. Now, TELL me WHY you’re alive!” He hesitated. I jammed two fingers into a fresh gash on his neck, and Kredak roared in pain. “WHYAREYOUALIVE?!!”

It finally clicked. “BECAUSE I AM STRONG!”

“YOU ARE STRONG, **_WHAT?!_** ”

“I AM STRONG, COMMANDER!”

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU, PYJAK!”

“I AM STRONG, COMMANDER SHEPARD, MA’AM!”

 _Scoped and dropped._ I fell forward into a running position as I released the pull, then leapt up and pushed two fingers against his chest plate. “Damn right you’re strong, Kredak. That’s why your parents named you. Now _EARN IT._ ”

The hallway outside was strangely noisy, and I turned around. We’d made quite the scene, as made apparent by the sizeable crowd gathered in the doorway. The two vorcha who’d scored the best seats were punching the crap out of each other; probably over a bet or something. The asari who had peeked in the door earlier were whispering to one another excitedly, and I spotted Bray near the back, standing next to Aria with his face in his palm. Aria had the most amazing shit-eating grin on her face; I took it as a compliment.

As the crowd dispersed, I punched Kredak on the shoulder as he rubbed the gash I’d assaulted. “So, what’s their ETA, kid?” I asked, lacing a pair of weathered combat boots I found at the end of my bed.

“A few days tops, I think, Commander. We have some time. They’re going to be directed to land by that clock tower near the Citadel beam, as the clearing we’re next to can’t accommodate much more than a frigate.”

_Sounds like a party…_

My stomach tightened. “Please…tell me we’re not going to them,” I added, desperately.

“Hell no, Commander, they will have to come to us,” he assured me.

“Any intel yet as to whether they know I’m alive?” _Damn, that sounds arrogant._

“No idea, Commander.” Kredak cautiously backed up as I stood, though he really had nothing to fear from me anymore. I had forgotten that my implants weren’t working correctly, so the one pull I’d gotten off without my amp drained all my energy, and I pitched forward. Kredak lunged, catching me under my arms and pulling me upright. My brain spun as the blood flowed out of my face.

“Forget something?” Kredak handed me my beaten-up amp, and I looped it over my ear.

“Thanks. Oh, one last question.”

“What?” He sounded amused and annoyed at the same time. 

“If we have a few days to wait, why am I up and at ‘em now?”

Kredak laughed. “You of all people should know that you can’t be in fighting shape in a bed, Commander. We’re going to throw everything we have at the batarians if we have to, so you have to be ready as well.” 

_(Oh yeah, good point.)_

“So, you’re coming on the Citadel raid with us.” 

_(Shit.)_

“Give those bags to the captain,” he motioned to Bray, “and meet Aria downstairs. She wants to run you around a bit to make sure taking you with us isn’t going to kill you.”

My stomach flipped. There was only one expedient way to get into the Citadel right now. _Through the bodies._

I pinched the bridge of my nose to soften the sudden shock in my temples. 

“Well, let’s get going, then. Oh, and Kredak?” I lowered my voice just to scare him, stifling my fear.

“Yeah…ma’am?” he stammered, nervously.

“You and me…we’re going to talk about this Blood Pack thing later.”

Kredak saluted. In the human style. 

“Yes ma’am.”

I smiled as I walked out the door. “At ease, soldier.”


	6. Electric Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Girl time is always relevant, especially when there's a really crappy task at hand.

Aria was more than eager to put me through my paces. You have to get out or things will get crazy, she said. The asari warlord had gotten into the habit of running every day since holing up on Earth despite the fact that it bored her to tears, so the company (read: competition) was a welcome change. She still wore her typical white jacket and subtle leather armor—ditching her iconic threads just because she was on a long-term, low-budget volunteer job on Earth was out of the question. Bray reported that scouts had wiped out most hostiles along her usual paths, but the chance of encounters “wasn’t quite zero,” so he tossed me an STG Venom shotgun and a satchel of thermals with a wry grin and a “just in case.”

_My favorite model. How did you…?_

I wasn’t clocking any six-minute miles after being comatose for a month, but a cheeky flash of brilliance gave me the guts to suggest using our biotics to make running off walls and buildings a little safer—and to my surprise, Aria didn’t find the idea excessively childish. We picked the tallest high-rise across the Thames and decided to time ourselves to the top: an idea which I objectively knew was about as safe as hopscotch on a mine field, but I was *fucking* sick of safety. 

_I’m going to make these window wells my bitch._

I had missed the rush of the biotic charge—the electric blue flux, the ecstatic shiver in my bones, the unrelenting thrill of reducing the distance between me and the target from meters to centimeters. There were, thankfully, no kills to be made here, but that didn’t make the challenge any less invigorating. Look left, fire up, fire right, dash across: I attacked the walls like a queen in three-dimensional chess, honing in on the shortest distance between points and blowing away all my obstacles with little more than a thought. Aria was a violet blur as she matched my pace, and I smiled out loud. Feeling so good should be so very illegal.

Of course when we landed and Aria had to slap me back to attention, it was much harder to feel like a badass. I nearly fainted as the flow of biotic energy left my body in one beaten breath—my cybernetics could only do so much as far as getting back in shape was concerned. _Hooray hindsight._

We perched (well, she perched, I flopped) on a ledge, taking some time to recuperate with some asari MREs that, surprisingly, didn’t taste like stale tofu. It took a few strange moments staring into the distance for us to let go, but when the tension subsided, we simply talked for a good couple of hours. 

I was uneasy at first. It was impossible not to be—I had firsthand knowledge of her combat skills, and was acutely aware of the ease with which she could snap my neck if I let my guard down. But as we talked, I realized that the Omega mission revealed something equally valuable: her vulnerability. Though she still viewed it as an unforgivable moment of weakness on her part, she secretly appreciated the few who had seen such things. Had she been of clear mind at the time, it wouldn’t have slipped; this she knew as well as I. But nothing can change the past.

The mission on Omega had awakened her to the needs of her “subjects” quite a bit, but all things considered, she hadn’t really changed. Though it was just as well; no one could really expect a thousand-year-old asari matriarch who’d seen as much as she to do so. And perhaps it wasn’t really necessary. She was a ruthless autocrat, surely, but she was also one of the most complex, perceptive, self-aware, and brilliant beings I’d ever met; though I knew better than to say that to her face.

I was getting fidgety. I had to ask. Aria knew Bray quite well, it seemed. That said, Bray’s unusual openness and his unwavering loyalty—not to her, but to me—had been on my mind for hours. I crumpled the MRE wrapper and shoved it in my pocket.

“So, what is your second doing keeping tabs on me? I feel like I know the answer already, but…” I trailed off, grabbing a couple of pebbles off the ledge and whipping them toward an Ariake Technologies billboard across the street. The answer seemed obvious: _he’s guarding me. Not as a person, but as a spoil of war._

I had not forgotten the desperation in her voice when she’d asked me to protect “Patriarch” a couple of years ago. The wizened krogan, whom she’d bested centuries earlier for control of Omega, piddled his twilight years away in the loud, dingy basement of Afterlife as Aria’s trophy, spinning artistic yarns of his former glory for many a drunk traveler. _Poor bastard._

Aria shot me an incredulous glance. “No, you don’t,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Sure, you’re quite the valuable asset, and, well, maybe a little bit shiny…” 

_(at least you admit it this time)_

“…but the fact that Bray asked to be assigned to you effectively cut my work in half.”

I blinked and turned my head with a perplexed jerk. “Wait…he _asked?_ ”

Aria’s mouth curved into a smug grin. “Shepard, I don’t know how you do it, really. Getting krogan clan chiefs under your thumb, wrangling rogue science experiments…”

_(Miranda, Jack and Grunt? Hey, come on now…)_

“bedding turian vigilantes…”

_(Well, you don’t have to be THAT crass about it…)_

“…but I have to say, I didn’t think you’d be working your witchy wonders on batarians any time soon.” She paused, distracted by a fat white pigeon landing in a broken window well. 

“I heard about—”

“The Bahak system…I know...if it’s all the same to you, I’d—”

“I’m sure. Can’t say I blame you. Anto had to put the kibosh on a few firing ranges on Omega that set up Human Commander Shepard Kill sims at least couple times a month after that.”

_(How is it that all the **decent** batarians end up on Omega?)_

“Anto? I remember him…I stopped a salarian info broker who tried to blackmail him. How is he?”

“He’s dead.”

_(…ellipsis…)_

Aria sighed, curtly. “I had to order fire on a few less-than-peaceable demonstrations outside Afterlife because most batarians were furious that you’d been allowed to leave the station alive.”

_(Um, yeah, so…that whole ‘not talking about it’ thing…)_

“Okay, Aria, seriously—”

“Come to think of it, Bray didn’t come around for a few days after the news broke. Didn’t say a word before he disappeared, then he just showed up expecting a paycheck.”

“I do NOT want to—”

“I considered re-negotiating his contract, but he was just too valuable to let go.”

_(Are you deaf or just an asshole?)_

I’d had about enough. “POINT, Aria?”

“My point, Shepard, is that Bray is damn near incapable of holding a grudge. In spite of all the shit he went through then, he said that working with you was, quote, ‘an absolute pleasure.’ End quote. I can’t tell you much beyond that, but when he came back from the _Normandy,_ he was more focused than he had been in a year, at least. You might say he was a changed man, but I wouldn’t go that far.”

A laugh escaped through my nose, and I watched the pigeon fluff its stubby wings and start pecking at the cement.

“Furthermore,” she continued, “he is a far bigger person than I in many ways. He thinks with both his head and his heart. Mind you, that does turn him into a sloppy, useless piece sometimes, but he always gets things done without complaint, and with better results than anyone I’ve ever worked with. He _made_ himself the only choice to replace Anto, in spite of his sentimentality. Or who knows, maybe it was because of it.” 

I saw her smirk out of the corner of my eye. “Yes, he’s fond of you, too,” she quipped.

_(‘Too?’ Oh goddamn it…)_

“Don’t get all cute-headed and think that he has no…what’s the human phrase…skeletons in the closet. Probably not as many as Archangel, but—”

“I’m not that naïve, Aria,” I nagged.

Aria clapped a hand on my knee, the hint of a smile hiding behind her lips. “I know, Shepard.” She almost winked. “Just figured I’d have some fun at your expense.”

For once, I was okay with being figured out. _Aria T’Loak has a soul. Fascinating._

My tangent-happy brain briefly considered asking her why she ordered her forces down here to find me in the first place, but I already knew.

If I wasn’t hugely important to her _personally,_ she wouldn’t be here. 

We sat quietly for a while, swinging our legs over the edge of the jagged twenty-eight-story thing like school kids at the end of a long, thrilling summer. The red and gold leaves on the few live trees below fluttered lazily in the chilly breeze, and I couldn’t help but grin stupidly at all this beauty still left here. I had half a mind to plant a flag up here and put up a “No Boys Allowed” sign. The pigeon could be our mascot.

We came down the same way we’d come up: with lots of explosions. Bray was in the square engaged in animated banter with another batarian, and Kredak shyly waved to me as he passed by on his way there, with a couple asari and a human girl following him. The gathering had begun—the moment I had forgotten to dread for the past few hours was now at hand. I nodded a quick goodbye to Aria as I shouldered my shotgun, and mentally prepared to leave for our macabre adventure through that unreal wasteland in the sky. 

Before I could leave, she quietly thanked me for “sending that bastard Kai Leng straight to hell.” Though she’d desperately wanted to exact vengeance herself, she admitted that knowing someone else had done the deed was better than wondering if he was hiding somewhere. It was no easy thing for her to say, considering the terrible losses he had caused both to Omega and to her personally, and while she wouldn’t say what those were, I didn’t really need to know anyway. I laughed and told her I wasn’t a huge fan of murder, but if I was in the position to kill him again, I would in a heartbeat. 

Aria nudged me toward the team with a fiery glint in her eye.

“Paint the walls up there with that rage, Shepard.”


	7. The Beam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stuck in an emotional and physical no-man's-land, all Shepard can do is take in her surroundings and soldier on.

I had no idea how the Omega troops had managed to a) get their hands on a decent Mako, b) fix it so quickly, or c) get Salkie to drive it and promise not to throw me out the back. The scrappy dark batarian wheelman still wore Blue Suns armor and remembered my face “very well.” Bray said that he’d not been particularly invested in whether Garrus got taken down or not, but he still resented me for being a good liar, “as humans are wont to be.” The instant he got his orders, he glared at me and stalked off, muttering something beginning with “oh if only.”

I suppose I could expect nothing less from him: I _had_ hijacked his car at gunpoint, after all (and quite unapologetically, at that)—not to mention ruining the upholstery with the azure blood of a wanted turian. 

The team assembled in the late afternoon. Maelon was one of those coming along, and for that I was infinitely thankful. His dark red skin stood in stark contrast to his white modified STG garb, unmistakable by the open curves decorating the armguards and the thin, minimalist crest across the shoulders, much like how I remembered Mordin’s looking. I was startled by the sight of a batarian Kishock harpoon gun strapped to his back. _A sniper, and a vicious one at that._

Salkie hoisted me into the truck just so he could dig his thumb against my visible stitches. His antic sent lightning bolts across my back, but watching Bray and Maelon team up and tag him in the kidneys for me was worth it. I had some great friends in low places. 

Kredak climbed in after us, followed by his two asari friends, a tawny-skinned batarian with brilliant red patterns across his scalp, the human girl, and two more salarians. The human introduced herself. Alicia T’Seres, she said, flipping her impossibly long, shiny black hair behind her shoulder. So proud to meet you, Commander, she said, her almond-shaped eyes sparkling with excitement. I spoke bravely and generously to her, doing my best to hide the abject terror lodged in my throat. She wore asari clothing; probably given to her by a bondmate. Maybe the brilliant cerulean-hued asari with white facial markings who kept shooting her affectionate glances across the aisle. She reminded me an awful lot of a Spectre I met once on Illium. 

One of the salarians— _not_ the mature, sinewy blue-grey one in salvaged Eclipse leg plates—asked Maelon what we were looking for, and their crystalline soprano voice startled me. A green-eyed, ruddy-skinned young female; Kinnet. Her unevenly clipped horn and the vivid keloid scar on her face suggested that she was more than capable of holding her own.

Most of us had chosen not to wear full armor; the exceptions being Kinnet, Kredak, and Salkie’s human navigator. Aria had offered to lend me one of her lightweight torso sheaths, but I politely declined, opting for the freedom of my cotton tank top. Too bad: it would be sexy on you, she said. But the mere thought of anything heavy or tight on my body made my breath hitch.

 _Too many sleeping memories._

When the Mako kicked into gear, I steeled myself and grabbed onto a loop hanging from the cargo bin. I made small talk with Maelon to avoid staring at Bray. Bray was near the front, hanging onto the bar attached to the roof and debating matters of strategy with Salkie and the dark-skinned human boy with curly blue hair. There was so much I wanted to ask him. Who are you, really? Why am I so fascinating? How do you not completely loathe me? What do you know about Garrus that I don’t?

_What do you dream about? What’s your favorite color? What was your sister like? Tell me what the stars look like where you grew up._

The bluish flecks in Bray’s skin were quite distracting. They coalesced into a double spire pattern which came up to the axis of his head and neck—and on any other day, I may have just found it “huh, interesting” and gone back to looking at other things. But right now, it was freaking _neato burrito._

Maelon waved his hand in front of my face. The eager salarian medic got the clue that I just wasn’t all there when I crossed my eyes in a misguided attempt to make the broken stripes twist around each other. _Swirly bobbly wheee…_

We hadn’t moved more than a few hundred meters when a sickening thud rocked the truck—the kind of subtle impact that happens when tires roll over **something which was once alive.** I did my best to keep my composure, but all I wanted to do was curl into a ball and die. Maelon joked that I looked like a dead fish, and I did not doubt it—I think he also might have said “it will be okay” at some point, but the pulse bashing against my skull muffled his voice. Sounded more like “evil bees pâté.”

_Sounded…these…sounds…please go away now._

*** * ***

A single beam of light. I face it, it faces me. It whispers. 

My sweat has run dry and my eyes drier. My blood stops in my veins. A pistol thrums to life in my cold hands. It tells me to kill. And I will kill.

_A weapon doesn’t choose to kill. The one who wields it does._

_Who IS the weapon?_

A face. Then three more. More and more...every species, even some I’d never seen.

Balak’s frozen, dead eyes. 

_“Kill me, Shepard. Kill us, Shepard.”_

The limp platform of a geth. Its light is out, half of its elapid body blown off. It faces me. It smiles. It has no mouth.

_“Shepard-Commander…”_

_Must it scream…so loudly?_

All join together now. More and more, opening their mouths as wide as they would go, and wider. 

_“Shepard…blow them up…everyone’s dying…gotten it wrong…siha...victory at any cost…I know, Tali…I don’t regret a thing…it’s been an honor, Commander…I…love you too.”_

They do scream. They do not stop. They will never stop.

*** * ***

“…pard. SHEPARD!” Maelon shook me hard. Still moving, still in the truck. Three-fingered hand on my shoulder lifting me up. 

“Drink,” he ordered, handing me a bottle of water. 

“Thanks.” I nodded appreciatively, still not quite understanding what this “thanks” phrase actually meant.

 _How be thing WORDS you say them whaaa…?_

I looked at the troops, and they were all busy talking amongst themselves, jostling with the motion of the truck. Bray included. Thankful for the lack of attention, I grinned deliriously and fixed my eyes on my pasty hands. I could almost see the veins under my skin, I’d gotten so thin. I suspected that part of the paleness was thanks to how awful I felt at the moment, though I’d done my best to stuff the emotions down where I couldn’t get at them for a while.

I absentmindedly played with my tags, deeply regretting that I had never shown Garrus the second tag I had quietly commissioned on that last shore leave. There was only one difference:

SPCT/N7 SHEPARD-VAKARIAN  
CDR CIEL R.

_Joker might be pissed if you hijack his ship, Garrus, but for the love of god, just do it anyway._

“Okay, people, we’re headed to Kithoi Ward again.” Bray stood, clearing his throat before he continued. 

_Shit, are we there already?_

“Scrape up anything you can find, but we need more salarian provisions than anything else. We‘re taking the keeper tunnels again, so be ready for a long crawl. And wear your respirators; the atmosphere is still thin. 

“We will stick to groups of two to three at all times; no bitching, and no exceptions. Kithoi C-Sec has little control over the civilian sector, but they are turning a blind eye to raiders like us in light of a few recent…and brutal…murders.” Bray raised a nervous, yet very intentioned, eye to the other batarian, who returned it in kind. I shot a confused look at the side of Bray’s head. 

“Questions?” The three salarians looked at each other, and two of them shrugged. “Blue” sat silent, looking up at Bray with the kind of determined expression that only comes with years.

“We have four days. Maelon and Eshan, you’re on point for red team.” Kredak, Alicia, and her asari bondmate got up and joined Maelon and the batarian. “Clear out any hostiles and hack the exits in the keeper tunnels. Neyra, you’re on barriers. Signal me via omnitool when it’s clear to ascend.” The asari saluted. 

“Salkie, Fletcher, you’re on ground. You know what to do.” I practically felt Salkie roll his eyes.

Bray continued. “Gold team comes up last. Shepard and I will come in back and take out any remaining threats.” Kinnet, the pale asari, and “Blue” stood. The tall, dusky salarian’s neck was encircled by an angry scar, the bulk of past damage imprinted over his throat. My eyes followed his left arm (which was covered in burn scars) down to where his hand rested on a sheathed knife, and found that he had only two and about a third of his three fingers left. History was written all over this one.

The truck’s front wheels lurched over a steep incline, and I grabbed the bar above my head to keep from plowing face first into Maelon’s back as we coasted down the hill to a stop.

“MOVE OUT!” Bray tossed me a respirator and disembarked. The mission was at hand: get in, get out, get gone. Before I knew it, the red team was through the beam, and gold team waited in tense silence for Bray’s omnitool to go off. 

The dusty, sloping path to the beam still bore the scorch marks from Harbinger’s laser—some stretching for a hundred meters or more. I didn’t see much Reaper tech still left, but their sinister geometry still lingered in the form of imprints in the dirt. There were a few dark patches of old blood still on the ground, and a chill zipped up my spine. Not long ago, the bodies of my comrades from many worlds had lain in this path, each one sacrificed so Anderson and I could make it past Harbinger. I’d called the _Normandy_ to extract Garrus and Liara: though the thought of losing them had been unthinkable to me at the time, many others could have survived had I not been so selfish. _Easily._

When Neyra’s all-clear sounded, Bray and I sprinted behind the rest of our team, weapons in hand. No thought, no reason, no time to contemplate. We simply moved. 

_Perfect soldiers; just like old times._

I could hear nothing except the torrid blood pounding through my head. My heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings, and the rush of adrenaline propelled me forward just as quickly. My legs were on fire; I could feel every single stitch, every single bruise, every single atrophied muscle fiber. Yet at once, there was no pain: I remembered something my dear friend Zaeed had said: “rage is a hell of an anesthetic.” 

As the beam closed in, I jammed my respirator on and lowered my head: it was the matador, I was the bull. 

And it had nowhere to go.


	8. Abandon Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Between sensory overload and learning that her mission is different from the others', Shepard struggles to keep her cool with her batarian guardian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential trigger warning: There's a great deal of morbid visuals following. Proceed with caution. Or throw caution to the wind if that's how you roll :P

I knew that I needed to open my eyes. It wasn’t even a question. The instinct to keep one’s eyes open when navigating was an incredibly useful byproduct of human evolution. But when I actually hit the ground, I just couldn’t. I already knew what was up here; I didn’t need to see a damn thing. Besides, sight wasn’t the sense that made this place so familiar.

It was the smell.

I brushed myself off and pushed up onto my feet. I could see the reddish glow of the maintenance lights behind my eyelids, and I heard the soft clicking of the four tiny tripod feet of a couple of keepers, no doubt working to return the space to normal for a new generation of governors and bureaucrats. _Such gentle, ruthless creatures, those little greens._

I stalked forward and charged my barrier, tucking my shotgun under my right arm and positioning it perfectly in case I needed to fire. My footsteps did not echo—the walls were well insulated, and not just thanks to their precisely calculated construction. The stench of death and the stagnant sounds of the morbid ingress filled me, coloring my self-imposed sightlessness more vividly than the actual sight ever could. I could still “see” every single face and body, every scrap of clothing and armor. There was a soldier here, some _10…9…8_ paces from me, who had once served on Arcturus; I knew it from the gold stripes on his pin. _5…4…3_ They were barely distinguishable through the burn marks, but you could make them out if you looked closely enough.

 _2…1._ The soldier rested behind me now, legions of his comrades by his side. I lifted my shotgun above my head, pushing a (rubber?) conduit out of my way. It slid over the barrel so easily; like a lazy rattlesnake on a warm highway. 

_How long until you spring to life and come for my neck, machine?_

A familiar hand purposefully grasped my flailing left hand and pulled me forward, and when I faltered, it stabled me. Out of my left ear, I heard the safety of a rifle go off and the subtle brush of a face against a sight. _So, Bray is left-handed..._

I heard the salarians and the asari muttering several paces in front of me. _Good. Follow them to living air._ Then came the hollow sounds of knees, hands and weapons in a narrow, metallic space. _The keeper tunnels._ But I quickly counted: there were only four knees— _and there are three people up there._ I froze. 

“Captain, Commander, on your six!” A raspy male salarian voice boomed down the hall. 

_“Blue.”_

The hiss of a husk _(no, two)_ bounced off the back walls, and as if I were programmed to do so, I body checked Bray to the floor and spun into a fighting stance in front of him. Electricity rushed through my brain, and the Venom kicked my shoulder hard as I fired straight back with one hand, and released a warp with the other. Scream-hissing, crackling, an intense set of explosions, dead silence.

“Blue” let out a surprised breath as he turned and jumped into the keeper tunnels. _Not much farther to go now._ I spun fast and raced toward the sound of his footsteps, toward the smell of life. And just before I could reach the paradise beyond, Bray grabbed my forearm and pulled me back.

 _How dare you…_

“Let go, Bray,” I growled. I tried to yank myself free, but his fingers tightened around me.

“Shepard, wait—”

I was barely resisting the urge to smash his face in with the butt of my gun. “NOW!” 

He relaxed a bit. “Open your eyes, Shepard.” His voice was so calm it scared me. I swallowed my fear, hard. _I know what lies here._

“WHY?” I snapped. 

“CIEL, PLEASE!” His deep voice shouting my first name hit me like ice water, and in my shock, he firmly turned me to face the back wall. 

_You weren’t here then, but you are now! What, can’t you see them lying here, along the walls, along the doors, across the pipes, under the keepers’ feet? So many hundreds, thousands…_

He sighed. “Please.” His voice was almost mournful as he spoke into his omnitool, letting the team know we would be along. 

I gritted my teeth, accepting that he wasn’t going to back down, and my eyes conceded to him, fluttering open on their own to behold my surroundings.

The keepers had done their work. No blood remained on the ancient tubes that hung from the ceiling, no bodies across the sloped walls and metallic support beams, no trace of indentations left by decomposing human flesh, no broken armor or torn clothing; it was as though nothing had been here at all. Everything, _everyone_ that once was, was gone. As my heart shattered, I fell to my knees.

A small, buggy-eyed keeper click-walked over the dead husks in the middle of the floor. I had blown their heads clean off.

*** * ***

We exited the tunnels next to a used skycar lot overlooking a deep highway close to the Presidium access corridors. Half the merchandise was totaled, to no surprise—might have been related to the fragment of a turian ship that had embedded itself behind a reception desk when it broke through an office window. Across the way, the recently disabled body of a husk lay across the hood of one of the cars, a huge hole clean through the center of its skull. Maelon Heplorn was a damn good shot. 

_Better watch yourself, Archangel._

“Captain Salikh; Commander Shepard, over here.” “Blue’s” scratchy voice crackled from off in the distant right. He waved us over to the offices, his elegant, tapered horns surrounded by the spectral orange aura of a terminal.

_Captain **what** now?_

“What did you find, Soren?” Bray replied.

“The key inventory. One of these should unlock a car that isn’t totaled.”

As Bray sorted through remote keys and signaled that it was okay to remove our respirators, I leaned over the desk. 

“So where are we headed to, exactly?” I asked. Soren pointed with his good hand at a map of the ward hanging on the wall.

“Refuge Mannovai, a clinic about a kilometer down the way. Dr. Heplorn’s team is at a market complex past that, and they haven’t run into trouble yet, so I’m assuming we’re in the clear.” The scar around Soren’s neck rippled as he spoke. 

_What stories could you tell me, salarian?_

The crack of an assault rifle startled me, and I turned just in time to see Kinnet give a ceremonial double tap to her latest metallic kill before running off to secure the perimeter. She had clearly done this before. As she disappeared behind a pillar, another too-familiar toneless groan emerged from behind the door of a sales office. Out of reflex, I vaulted over the desk, shoving Soren out of the way as I flipped my shotgun against my shoulder and fired. The shot missed the husk, but it shattered the remaining glass on the wall, knocking the thing back. But before I could take another shot, a thermal whizzed past my ear, and a hole exploded through the husk’s neck. It was disabled before it hit the ground. 

Bray noticed the uneasy crease in my brow as he replaced his pistol, artfully dodging the fact that were he not left-handed, he may have shot me instead. 

“Most civilians are armed up here, Shepard. If everything goes as predicted, there won’t be a single husk left on Kithoi Ward within a month,” Bray affirmed, continuing to comb through the keys. 

_Not as reassuring as it sounded in your head, I’m sure._

Boots crunched on glass. 

“Nievos, anything?” Bray addressed the pale asari as she stepped through the office window.

“We found both the unlocked ones,” she informed us.

“Excellent,” Bray said, impatiently. “You three take one of them and get to the clinic. Let me know if you run into anything before I get back to you.” 

_Wait, ‘you three?’ What?_

Soren nodded and locked eyes with me as he passed. “Thank you, and good hunting, Commander.” 

Soren, Kinnet, and Nievos took off in a blue skycar and disappeared into the distance before I could protest these crap details. I glared at Bray and crossed my arms, doing my best to hide my exhausted breathing.

“Something you’re not telling me, _Captain?_ ” I scoffed.

Without looking at me, Bray reviewed a message on his omnitool. “Yes, Shepard. You have a different assignment.” He motioned for me to follow him. 

_Great._

I emptied the thermal chamber on the Venom and replaced the safety. “Assignment? You _can’t_ be serious.”

Bray shook his head, smiling. “Don’t worry. You’ll be free to use your guns if you want to.” His cheerful tone was not helping his case.

“Bray, tell me what the hell is going on, or so help me…” 

_So help me what, exactly?_

Without another word, I climbed into the passenger side of a black skycar, and Bray tossed me the bags Kredak had given me earlier. He shook his head regretfully.

“Sorry, Commander. I know you expected a fight up here, but we need to keep you safe.” He abruptly turned the skycar in the opposite direction of the others, avoiding my gaze by watching the side mirror. 

I propped my elbow on the armrest and stared blankly out the window as we sped away from the lot. There wasn’t a lot of Kithoi Ward left. Looking down the Citadel skyline, it was easy to see that this ward had sustained the most damage. Half of the ward had broken off, and it floated just inside the mass effect envelope of the Citadel. I didn’t even want to consider how many of the people who’d lived over there may have survived. 

_Ruthless calculus._

The buildings on Kithoi were in fairly good shape, and I even spotted some greenery below us. A few confused pedestrians (with guns) milled about, most likely scavenging for provisions, and one or two skycars with miscellaneous cargo strapped to the roof passed by. But for the most part, the streets looked empty save for the occasional C-Sec cruiser or keeper. 

Shalta and Bachjret wards were both intact, but Tayseri and Zakera, both adjacent to Kithoi, had sustained comparable damage. Though what was left of Zakera was hanging onto the Presidium ring by no more than a prayer, I could see some lights on in a few skyscrapers in the distance. There was life; there was hope.

Bray sighed, snapping me out of my nostalgic daze. 

“Balak is coming specifically for you, Shepard.” 

_(And boom goes the FUCK YOU.)_

“We aren’t sure why, considering that he doesn’t know you’re alive, but some very recent intel let us know that he’s being accompanied by a portion of Admiral Hackett’s fleet.”

 _(Umm…)_

“Something big is the works, Commander, and we have to be ready for it.” Bray was trying so hard to soften the blow of the news he’d just thrown at me.

I blinked, continuing to stare at the broken Citadel skyline. “If we have to be at our best, then why are you diverting me from the mission?”

“That’s the problem, Shepard. It’s clear that you’re more than ready for distance combat, but you’ve got a bigger role in this than gunplay.” He banked a hard right. “Balak is a very dangerous man, and he just doesn’t let opponents get much distance. And that’s where the rest of us come in. You know, Aria knows, and I know,” he quirked his brow, “that there’s no way you can hold your own against Balak should he try anything right now. You wouldn’t last five seconds in your current condition.”

He was right, but that didn’t make it easier for me to accept how useless I felt. I sighed and nodded as he pulled onto the landing pad of a tall residential building and killed the skycar’s engine. 

“A couple of Aria’s apartments on Kithoi Ward survived the Crucible, so you get one mostly to yourself for the next couple of days.” 

“Wait, Aria has property up here?”

Bray chuckled. “Of course she does, Shepard. On every ward. If she spent all her time in Afterlife, she would murder everyone. Takes a while to talk her down from that.” 

_(Well, that explains Councilor Tevos’ googly eyes with that whole immigration processing thing.)_

“It’s the very top one, just down those stairs from here,” he said, pointing at an inelegant, shaded stairwell door about 15 meters away.

 _(That thing is…lurking. Seriously, that is what lurking looks like. You can’t just leave me here…)_

“There is still running water and a stocked kitchen, so you should have everything you need. I and the others are going to finish the mission while you recharge. Try to think about it like shore leave.”

_(Oh you did NOT just…)_

I snapped toward him. “Bray, you know that’s not going to happen, right—tell me…just tell me you know that.” My words hit him like a slap, and I could see it written across his face the moment I said them.

Bray sat silent for a moment, still avoiding my eyes.

“I do know, Shepard.” His shoulders sagged as he folded his arms on the dash. “Being stranded, being alone, losing people, I do know. There’s not much that can make that disappear.” He eyed me sideways. “And for you as a human, I can’t imagine putting up with a batarian helps, either.”

I slumped in the seat. His words stung more than I could express.

“Bray, I didn’t…I know…you’re…” Nothing I could say would help now. I couldn’t continue. 

Bray opened the doors and fiddled uncomfortably with the climate controls as I gathered myself. I wanted so much to reach out to him, to let him know how much his care meant to me. But instead, I just got out of the stupid car.

“Aria left you a note in the bag…I’m…sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” Bray’s voice was still kind and understanding, but I knew he was hurt. 

“It’s all right.” It wasn’t. “Thanks.” I turned to go, the impending aloneness sitting heavy in my gut.

“Shepard?”

I took the safety off my pistol.

“I…I’m coming back in a few hours.” More of a question than an affirmation.

I sighed. “If you have time.”

Someone had left a liquor bottle on the ledge of the landing pad near a flowering hedge. As Bray drove off, I shattered it with one shot. 

_Fucking litterbugs._


	9. Inside the Shell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone time in which to face her demons is the last thing that Shepard wants. But in the halls of a mind shaped by war and death, going from heaven to hell and back again in no time flat is just par for the course.

There weren’t many things in this galaxy I had ever been completely certain of. Hell, I had managed to foil both death and taxes on several occasions. But the breathtaking view out the gigantic picture window made me absolutely sure of one thing: Aria T’Loak had a fantastic eye for real estate. 

This place wasn’t quite as open as the apartment Anderson had left me on the Presidium, but it was utterly soigné nonetheless. It was designed much like certain apartments in the arcology skyscrapers on Illium, with plants housed in glass casing lining the walls of the open loft, a large living room and a well-equipped office. I peeked around the corner upstairs near the bed to find a full-body shower with some kind of brown granite tiling built under the stairwell. While most people would have made this area into a closet, Aria had better things in mind. And her ideas delivered.

I wandered downstairs to investigate further. The kitchen counters were made of a stone that was unlike anything I had ever seen. The goldish-white metamorphic mass (I recalled an on-base geology class just after basic) revealed hints of pink and silver in the striated bands—kind of like a really big, flat geode. It looked too pretty to be real, but the pain that shot through my knuckles when I knocked on it told me it was very hard, and very authentic. 

I poked my head through a door under the curved staircase, and beheld a master bathroom on par with the one at my Presidium place. Complete with a whirlpool and everything. I grinned like a fool as I recalled how Garrus and Zaeed had rigged my own hot tub to boil my enemies alive. It took Kasumi Goto, the best hacker, tinkerer and thief in the galaxy, three days, four nights and two omnitools to undo whatever they did—and I paid her quite handsomely for it; though it was mostly in fancy underwear and terminal components. I left her a key to the apartment as a bonus, even though we both knew she didn’t need one. “It’s the thought that counts,” she said. 

In the end, she refused to go back to the Crucible until I promised to say “I heart Garrus” every time I used the whirlpool anyway. 

_And that, my love, is the story of the shortest argument in human history._

I sat in the corner next to the jade sinktop— _how the hell much did you pay for that, woman?_ —and opened the bag Aria had sent with Kredak. A shabbily folded piece of notebook paper concealed the contents. I opened the note, taking a moment to admire her perfect handwriting—and, amazingly, her even more perfect English.

_You look like shit, and you probably smell even worse. Get your ass cleaned up. We need you looking gorgeous so Ka’hairal can see something nice before he dies. Your bodyguard and that turian of yours might appreciate it too._  
 _Rest up. Get some fire back in those deadly green eyes, my sister._  
 _-Aria_

I laughed until my sides ached. _Note to self: **never** ask Aria how she’s on a first-name basis with Balak. I don’t want to know._

If there were two things anyone could say about Aria T’Loak, they were: 1) piss her off and you’re fucked, and 2) make yourself an asset and she will set *all* the good stuff aside for you. The bag she gave me contained enough expensive Thessian bath stuff and skin care to last me a few months. In any other time, and coming from any other person, this would have felt like a pretty superficial gesture. But these were strange times, and Aria rarely indulged in expressions that were anything short of über professional. With her, little things were huge things. 

At the bottom of the bag were two changes of clothes like what I currently wore, plain black underwear, a dark red X belt that was meant to be worn across my waist, a black leather jacket with hardware made from some kind of red alloy, and a gold and teal asari-style silk dressing gown. I shook my head. Thinking about fashion in a war zone? _I suppose there are worse things._

 _Of fucking course there are worse things._ I took the silk between my fingers and let it fall. I wanted so much to feel content; to have hope for some kind of bright future, but it just felt wrong. Between the reality of the big, bleak picture out in the galaxy, and the resigned look on Bray’s face when he left, I just felt sick to my stomach.

_You could have killed me in my sleep for taking your family from you. Yet you chose to care for me and to protect me instead. And this is the thanks I give you?_

I threw the bag down and raked my fingernails across my scalp, hard. How the fuck was it so easy to change from furious to giddy and back right now? For that matter, what right had I to try and feel happiness at all? I had dipped my hands in the blood of billions, sacrificing the many for the many. I was guilty. Balak should have shot me on the Citadel. I couldn’t argue against the fact that he was about the last person who should be free without trial, but perhaps my death could have given his people some peace.

_I…am…guilty._

The colors in the stone walls began to shift and swirl. Was it real? Did it really matter if it was? 

_After all, everything can learn to be alive if it truly believes that it is…_

My thoughts pinged off the walls of the slowly shrinking room, escaping the most remote parts of my subconscious legion by legion. Words, voices, faces, numbers, equations, orbs circling other orbs. They laughed, they cried, they screamed, they exploded, they fought, they died, they stayed. They dreamed. They expanded into universes and contracted into the finest quantum foam. Where camaraderie, tension, conflict, and love had once filled my deepest heart with hope, now there lived only demons, weaknesses, failures. 

Each piece of gnosis left in a whisper; returned as a scream.

I no longer had to imagine the sound of my bullet entering a man’s stomach, or the dire, tiny breath that man takes when he knows he can now count down to his last. I no longer needed to speculate on what a man who had lost everything would do to fill the holes inside his selfhood; on the ideas that he would force himself to accept to justify it all; nor still on the symphony of echoes one tiny piece of metal might create inside his metallic skull as he ended his own life. Or the haunting it imparts when his blue eyes flicker and darken. I no longer wondered how it would feel to have someone ask me to end their life because I, and no one else, had taken everything they loved and left him alone. Or how it looked when his last tears fell from all four of his eyes. 

Once in my youth, I might have wondered how it looks when the color of life leaves a person’s irises; as the color of non-life soaks through the veil and into our sordid plane. Now, I could not recapture all the colors I’d seen with all the paint, time and canvas that had ever existed. 

The batarians are right. Life does leave through the eyes. And it can never be unseen.

Silence. Cold, viscous silence, filling my mouth, my nose, my ears, and the tiny sub-atomic spaces that are really, truly the stuff of physical mass. Emptiness. We are emptiness. 

_I am empty._

Fade to black.

*** * ***

My neck was on fire when I came to; my heels numb from being pressed so hard against the cold tile floor. I pulled my hands away from my throbbing head, finding a mess of red hair, skin and blood under my ragged fingernails. _Filth._ I rolled my eyes in resignation. If I was going to have to put up with being alone for a while, I might as well make the most of it. 

Glancing at the bath, I hastily stripped and threw the dressing gown on, ignoring the brilliant pains in my shoulders and the spinning in my head. I picked the oil whose scent was the closest approximation to gardenia, and started the bath water running. My mother had grown gardenias back on Mindoir, and the smell always made me feel safe and loved. I didn’t really care whether that feeling was rational or not: wrestling with logic right now was about useful as being mad at a cat for being pissed that you gave it a bath.

I jumped out of my skin when I heard the door to the roof fly open. 

“Shepard? Shepard, are you here?” 

I quickly tied my sash and stepped out of the bathroom. “YeEA—ugh.” My voice cracked, and I coughed. Dry throat. I heard quick footsteps on the stairs and spotted some familiar crimson horns over the railing.

“Maelon. What are you doing here?”

He waved and reached into a bag. “Taking time out of salvage to bring you your antibiotics, Commander.” _Oh yeah, those._

I rolled up my sleeve and Maelon administered the shot. _Yep, still hurts._ He paused, distracted by the sound of the faucet, and shook his head.

“What?” I asked, rubbing my arm.

“Commander, if you’re going to bathe, we have to remove your bandages and clean your wounds. But luckily for you, we won’t have to replace them this time,” Maelon said, casually.

I quirked my lip in embarassment. _Duh, I know better, really…_

“Well, let’s get it over with.”

He shook his head with amusement. “Just sit on that counter, Shepard.” 

I dropped the dressing gown and hoisted myself up onto the island in the kitchen. Aside from the large bandage wrapped all the way around my torso, I was completely naked. Maelon did not react or seem shocked in the least, but that was no surprise; mostly because salarians don’t experience sexuality as other species do, but also, I knew, because he had already seen everything. Besides, I was so far past caring. Seemed like half the galaxy had seen me naked anyway.

I noticed a large splatter of sloppy stitches across my right hip and thigh—definitely not the work of a scientist salarian. _Seriously, whoever did this job was either drunk or panicking._ This was one wound I _did_ remember getting. After the Crucible fired, the enormous solid state terminal I shot up exploded, and a couple of large pieces of shrapnel (and part of my armor) embedded themselves in my leg. It must not quite have punctured my femoral artery, which was fortunate, because that explosion was the last thing I remembered before waking up to the sound of Bray shouting. I would have bled out otherwise.

 _Still hard to believe my armor was slagged, though. That Serrice stuff is expensive…_

“OW!” I yelped when Maelon tugged on the threads in my shoulder.

“It’s time to take these out. Sit tight.” I gripped the counter and spread my shoulder blades. In a matter of minutes, Maelon had those, as well as the tangled ones in the glass crack on my leg, removed, and the wounds treated with something that burned like acid and smelled like turpentine. My cybernetics glowed through the scars ever so slightly, and I growled resentfully under my breath. 

“Raise your arms, Commander,” he ordered, beginning to unwrap the bandage around my torso almost before I’d started to move. Breathing suddenly became a bit more painful when he finished. _Must have been a compression wrap._ My lungs throbbed, and I was quite grateful at this point that I didn’t have a particularly large chest. I tried to bend forward and dull the pain, but Maelon placed his hand on my sternum, holding me upright. I frowned at him.

“The pain will dissipate in about an hour or so. Until then, you have to keep yourself as expanded as possible. Now take this,” Maelon instructed, holding out an anti-inflammatory capsule. I let the capsule dissolve under my tongue while he removed the gauze from the chest tube punctures and the slowly healing hole in my side. They were quite clean—it seemed that they had almost not needed to be replaced the last time. 

My vision blurred when he patted the turpentine-acid-pain-bloody-hell concoction onto the bullet wound, but he scampered away to switch the bath off before I could scream poorly-worded death threats at him. I grumped and grumbled for about ten seconds before I noticed that the raw tissue he’d treated wasn’t quite so raw anymore. In fact, it looked almost…healed.

Maelon poked his head around the corner, noticing my shock as I hopped off the counter. “That solution took eight years to perfect. Took out a couple of university labs in the process, too...the administration wasn't happy, but my professor couldn't have cared less if he tried,” he added with a tricky grin.

I laughed. “You don’t say.” _Oh, Mordin, you sly dog..._

“Indeed. You have to give certain things time to heal by themselves, though, since you can’t use it on infected tissue. What was it that Doctor Solus used to say all the time? ‘Problematic?’”

_It had to be you, Maelon. Someone else might have...hehehe._

I faltered a little as I grabbed my dressing gown and attempted to make my way to the bath. Maelon procured a few bandages from his pocket and placed them on the sink, giving me a “just in case” speech as he offered his arm to help me into the water. He probably said a few other things, too, but what with the warm water and the peaceful smells and the artificial current swirling around my battered body, I couldn’t have cared less.

For the first time in months, I felt like being grateful for my life wasn’t a crime.

As I relaxed in the wee hours of the morning, Maelon bid me goodnight, and he had turned to go when I remembered a rather odd and somewhat underhanded question I’d meant to ask him. My current state of undress, combined with the huge amount of trust I was placing in his hands made it particularly relevant.

“Can I ask you a really strange question, Maelon?”

He looked at me quizzically. “Anything, Commander Shepard.”

I folded my arms over the edge. “My armor. How...how did you get it off? I was sort of melted, burned and bent into it.” 

He cocked his head. “How do you mean?”

“You know, you had to shove tubes into my chest? Stitch me up like Frankenstein’s Monster? Ring a bell? You can't do that through a torso sheath.”

Maelon turned, and what came next was the last thing I expected. 

He shrugged. 

“I honestly don’t know, Shepard. It was Bray who found you.”


	10. My Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ciel Shepard keeps her guardian in the game, gets bored when he falls asleep, and goes on adventures. With volus.

It was beyond divine to wake up in a real bed. I didn’t even recall the nightmares, I had slept so soundly. Not even the captain’s cabin on the _Normandy_ had sleek linens or fluffy down mattresses like this. I was pretty sure that if angels existed, this thing was made from their feathers. 

I’d forgotten that I didn’t wear anything to sleep in, so I looked around for something. The dressing gown was folded neatly on my nightstand, though I didn’t remember putting it there. I threw it on over a pair of pants, running my fingers through my barely-dry hair and holstering my Carnifex. I had no idea what time it was; the Citadel’s environmental controls had been fritzed by the Crucible’s energy, so it was still at the same low level of light it had been at when we arrived. 

_“Apocalyptic Shore Leave in the Dark:” sounds like the best bad horror movie ever._

I turned the dimmer on when I felt a dampness under my foot. There was a decent-sized patch of blood on the floor near the side of the bed I’d slept on, and I felt my stomach drop as I followed a speckled path across the laminate floor to the top of the staircase. Halfway down, I heard a groan, and I snapped my head in the direction of the sound. Bray lay face down on a blue couch, his right shoulder and underarm gashed quite deeply as evidenced by the large amount of blood soaked into his clothing. Maelon had clearly applied liquid sutures _(well, **now** I know why I didn’t get those)_ but had done so in haste, allowing the wound to continue bleeding a bit—and with the laceration being so close to his brachial artery, he had no doubt lost more. He would be okay, but even from a distance he looked paler than usual.

I tried not to think about how annoyed I was with him. My conversation with Maelon a few hours previous had done wonders to quench my ire, but try though I might, I just couldn’t shake this irrational feeling of abandonment. I was totally aware that I was dwelling on bygones. It was ridiculous. I knew better. Bray had no intention of leaving me completely alone.

_But maybe…that isn’t the real issue anyway._

“Bray, wake up,” I said gruffly, trying to hide the worry in my voice. 

I shook him, perhaps a bit harder than he deserved. Bray groaned and rolled onto his right side, and I stifled a gasp. Another laceration, though not quite as deep, ran across his chest, and his blood had soaked a dark stripe into the fabric of the couch. He did not open his eyes, and judging by how weakly he moved, I knew he wasn’t getting up. Without another word, I sprinted into the bathroom and grabbed the antiseptic supplies, water, and a pair of scissors. It had been a long time since I’d moved so fast. 

I lifted Bray and sat behind him, leaning him against me. He was burning up, so when my dressing gown fell down around my bare shoulders I did not think twice about just letting it be. As I supported his head with my forearm, I slipped my right arm out of the sleeve and cut his shirt with one swipe. He growled and clenched his fist when I yanked it off—the thing had stuck to his skin in a few places. I winced empathetically, biting my tongue as sneaky little feelings of compassion tried to waltz their way into my spongy little heart.

_Dance all you want, I’m still mad._

I spat a terse apology as I wetted a cloth to wash the sweat from Bray’s face and cool his forehead. His temperature was high enough that I had to re-wet the thing twice more as I cleaned the wound. I kept it in my left hand, leaning him over to expose his shoulder blade. For almost three minutes, I scrubbed the blood and what looked like glass out of his sand-colored skin, and he did an admirable job of keeping still as I did so. Come to think of it, it was bloody infuriating how patient he was. _I will make you squirm, Bray, I swear._

I saturated a cloth with Maelon’s dreaded potion, trying to hide the hint of sadistic glee under my breath as I pressed it into Bray’s shoulder. He screamed in pain, and when his elbow smashed into my ribs, I bit my lip so hard it bled. There was no universe in which that wasn’t going to bruise like an abused banana, though I supposed I deserved it. _Batarian, you are so lucky you saved my life._

_Yep, still mad._

An intense feeling of déjà vu gave me pause, made all the more intense by knowing that I had once been just as helpless in his arms, and I quickly encircled Bray with my right arm and pulled him tightly to my bare chest to compress the wound. Though in truth, it was more of a convenient excuse to keep him close to me. _Oh for the love of god, make up your fucking mind, Ciel._

As his breathing slowed, I noticed how fast my own heart was beating. I remembered the insanity in the aftermath of Garrus being shot by the Blue Suns’ gunship. In the relatively short time it took me to carry him back to the drop zone and take Salkie’s skycar, I got intimately acquainted with the sound of my own blood in my ears. Now, the same sound consumed me. 

That day, it had reminded me that two batarians were threatening my life (and, more importantly, the life of the one I loved), and that I needed to run like hell. But right now? It told me that just one batarian, one who was a friend, had instead placed his well-being in my hands; and had once held mine just as closely, if not more so.

_Jesus, I'm a jerk._

Bray inhaled deeply and curled his fingers as I relaxed my grip, wincing as the gash on his chest expanded. The thought of letting him go stung, but I had to resupply. I could at least make up for kicking him when he was down—he was the last person who deserved that from me. As I rose, I let the gown slip off my left arm and laid Bray on top of it. Silk would cool his skin better than whatever fabric the couch was made from anyway. For a moment, I felt his eyes on my naked back as I walked off. 

_I have nothing to hide._

I stared into the bathroom mirror for a while, contemplating my bare chest, the slowly darkening bruise on my left side, and my swollen lip; the old scars, the newer wounds healing into new scars, the burn marks on my left arm, and my ribs that I could now count without squinting. In this sort of heroic moment, I felt like an Amazon, albeit a really scrawny one. I grabbed an application of medigel out of the blue bag—the stuff still stung, but not nearly as much as Maelon’s hair-raising lab experiment. On the way back, I caught a glimpse a terminal in the office. The time, which was automatically synced to the London zone of Terran Coordinated Universal Time, showed 4:32 p.m. ( _Wow, does time even work anymore?_ ), meaning we still had just under three days left up here. My heart skipped a beat, though I couldn’t say whether from dread or from joy.

Correction: I _wouldn’t_ say. 

Bray faced away from me, his chest rising slowly and evenly. In the short time I was up, he’d passed out. Something in me warmed at seeing his vulnerability—it was getting impossible to justify holding a grudge. Lifting Bray’s sleeping form onto my chest, I carefully replaced his compress, making sure not to cover his nostrils. His face was unsettlingly peaceful. Batarians really did have fascinating faces. They could express blatant emotion with one pair of eyes while giving away their subtleties with the other, and if you weren’t paying attention, you would be none the wiser. I could understand why those of us with only two eyes annoyed them sometimes. We are simple creatures in our design, yet this also makes us so very hard to read.

Bray twitched a little as I worked, but he did not express much pain, even after the burn of the medigel woke him. I wound a bandage tightly around Bray’s torso and let out my breath, and he slumped against me, just as exhausted as I was. As the adrenaline slithered out of my veins, I collapsed against the arm of the couch, panting, my arms strewn about like a rag doll. It would feel so good to sleep again. 

My right arm decided to go its own way and drape itself across Bray’s, my hand pulling his fingers into mine and squeezing them tightly. For a brief moment, I analyzed the impulse. _No, really, I have no idea how we got here…_ It wasn’t worth the nitpicking. I enfolded him in a grateful embrace, resting my head on his and feeling the breath inside him, thinking so many things that I could not even begin to express. And we rested. 

_You’re here. You’ve always been here._

The plot-less visions meandering through my woozy mind halted abruptly when I realized that neither of us was wearing anything on our upper bodies. I was neither ashamed, nor was I particularly concerned with improprieties, but I decided to err on the side of caution. _It’s probably time I let him breathe anyway._

The little lies I told myself to justify distance had themselves become my master. 

I felt Bray try to grab my wrist before I could leave. Covering my bare breasts with my arm, I turned around. His black eyes bored into me, pleading. 

“Thank you.” His voice sounded like he’d drank nothing but Scotch for a week. I couldn’t help but laugh a little.

 _Fine, you win._

“I’m getting you water, Bray. Just don’t forget to tell me what happened later.” 

*** * ***

Bray slept for the rest of the afternoon; I made sure of that. He’d made noise earlier about rejoining the operation, but my scolding dissuaded him—probably embarrassed him, too. As for his injuries, a couple of husks had apparently caught his team by surprise, and he tripped and fell back onto a huge shard of a broken window trying to draw his weapon, getting slashed by one of the godforsaken creatures in the process. Not quite the level of daring do I had expected, but the thought still made me twitch.

I sat on the floor next to the couch and waited for him to be asleep before running off and having some fun. Snooping through Aria’s old messages proved to be a fantastic time-waster, even if most of them were three lines long and full of naughty, naughty words. _Eh, better to beg forgiveness than ask permission._ I came across one particular gem between her and a former lieutenant, dated about five years ago.

_**Re: FNG** _  
_This guy seems pretty capable, Grizz. Send him in when I get back. Oh, and tell him to give me a nickname. Batarian names tie my fucking face in knots and I don’t have time for that.  
\--Aria_

A still of a slightly younger Bray was attached. I shook my head vigorously when I felt my heart flutter with excitement. Learning people’s secrets was so terribly much fun. 

Boredom can do funny things to people. I passed the rest of the day by going through Aria’s drawers, drinking stale coffee, and, finally, wasting ammo on the roof. Aria wasn’t going to miss it, and even if she did, I could buy her a frigate full of the stuff later. Besides, I was doing a C-Sec a service by blowing these bits of trash into their constituent parts. _Or something._

A couple of volus out walking (or waddling) yelled at me when I shot out the window of an abandoned building across the way. To be fair, this window _was_ only a couple of meters away from them, now that I actually looked at it. I waved apologetically, but when I saw their official-looking badges and official-looking clipboards, I shrank behind the ledge. One of them caught my eye before I managed to duck out of sight.

“SHEPARD?”

_Curses, foiled again._

I poked my head over the ledge. “Uh…um…no?”

The two stared up at me, standing tiptoe on their stubby little legs. One was…bouncing? Because of their enviro suits, I couldn’t tell if they were also blinking cutely, but I was pretty sure they were.

“Come down here and we won’t _…ksss…_ uh…well, I really have no idea _…ksss…_ but we won’t!” He sounded about as menacing as a wet puppy, even without the respirator.

 _Oh, fine then._ I raised a finger over the ledge and decided to time my dash down ten flights of stairs. Two minutes, thirty-six seconds, and I only tripped over my own feet four times. _Balls, I’m losing my touch._

I threw the door open, bent over, and hugged my knees, my tags smacking my face as I descended. The two burst out laughing at seeing how winded I was, so I cracked my neck and crossed my arms in a tragic attempt to look intimidating.

“You guys seriously think I’m Shepard?” I bluffed with a poorly disguised smirk.

The one who had called me down shook his head and laughed, his short, stout little body wobbling about quite amusingly. 

“ _ksss…_ Commander…oh, Commander, my dear _…ksss…_ you may need a sandwich or fifty, and, um, have a lot less hair _…ksss…_ but I never forget a face.” He extended his hand up to me. “Name’s Doran. You got a, um _…ksss…_ salarian weasel named Schells out of my _…ksss…_ establishment a couple of years ago, and if I do recall _…ksss…_ you and Officer Vakarian got my best wait staff back in uniform _…ksss…_ without even asking for recompense.”

I knelt down and shook his hand. _Second best dancer this side of Council space._

“Well, damn, Doran, you got me! Just…” I lowered my voice dramatically, “don’t go spreading this around, will ya?” He bobbed his head in that cute little volus way, making the “my lips are sealed” gesture.

“How is _…ksss…_ Garrus, by the way?” he asked. I’d nearly forgotten that Doran was friends with Garrus. 

“He got shot back on Earth, but as far as I know, he’s doing well. I’ll pass a message next time I see him, how’s that?” Doran nodded enthusiastically. I cocked my head as I stood up. 

“So, uh, what’s with the badge?” I inquired.

“Oh _…ksss…_ well _…ksss…_ a bunch of us civilians volunteered with C-Sec to survey the wards to _…ksss…_ assess damage and _…ksss…_ find ‘bad guys,’as it were.” _Air quotes…really?_ “So _…ksss…_ here we are!” Doran twirled a pen excitedly.

I smiled. “You’re fighting the good fight, guys.” The volus in the red enviro suit bounced again. “By the way, Doran, who is this?”

The other volus bowed rather dramatically, and snapped back up into a salute. _Oh, spirits…_

“Name’s Kith _…ksss…_ ma’am! Pleased to meet you _…ksss…_ ma’am! _ksss…_ Um _…ksss…_ ” he hesitated. “Permission to speak freely _…ksss…_ ma’am?”

I stifled a giggle. “Permission granted.”

He cleared his throat and straightened his salute. “Um _…ksss…_ wow _…ksss…_ holy shit, Commander Shepard _…ksss…_ MA’AM!”

I doubled over laughing. “At ease, Kith.” He seemed overly pleased with his results. Doran tucked his clipboard into his belt and craned his neck to look me in the eye.

“Commander _…ksss…_ this might be far too informal, but um _…ksss…_ would you like to come have a drink with us? _ksss…_ I have plenty of levo-friendly refreshments at headquarters— _ksss…_ er _…ksss…_ my apartment!”

I shrugged. “Eh, why not? Just don’t keep me too long—I have a friend passed out on the couch in there.” I thumbed behind me. They exuded happy vibes as they escorted me to a small skycar a few blocks away. Kith was practically skipping. 

_An ammonia-based Conrad. Hooray._

Doran opened the door for me, and I crawled in. “Um _…ksss…_ by the way, Commander: do you um _…ksss…_ still go by Shepard these days?” I was confused by his question until I realized he was staring at my tags. My hyphenated custom one was face up at his eye level. 

I blushed. “Use whichever name you like.”

_I swear…wait, did he just wink?_

The three of us talked for what seemed like hours over more than a few expertly-crafted libations. I waxed overly poetic on all things Garrus-related, and Doran recounted to me the less horrid details of what it was like to be on the Citadel when the Crucible fired. Kith interjected here and there with various sillinesses, and though I normally might have thought his cornucopia of non sequiturs really obnoxious, the drinks, combined with my appreciation for good company, colored them positively endearing.

For a seasoned bartender, Doran was quite the lightweight. Three beers in, and he was slurring up a storm, while Kith Verner over there gleefully hopped about the living room, procuring all manner of funky-colored shots with nary a drop out of place. 

_Best watch my mouth, lest he start “interviewing” me for some dissertation on the Reapers._

Thankfully, the good old BAC ultimately proved itself Kith’s better, and he passed out in the bathroom while Doran and I sobered up. Doran apologized more than a few times for Kith’s oddness. The kid was his nephew, apparently, and he had been relocated to the Citadel just before it was moved to the Sol system. He was already a little eccentric before the war, but that experience, as well as being in one of the only ships evacuated from Irune to make it out of atmo in the first wave, had messed him up more than a little bit. But he would be okay, Doran said, with a concerned shake of his little neck-less head. 

No sweat at all, I said. We need to keep family close at times like this. And besides, he was adorable.

Doran helped me drag the _*fucking heavy little bastard*_ into a small bedroom, which still boasted the garish trappings of a college dorm room: an Expel 10 poster on the wall ( _huh, a post-cyber sensory turian band, eh?_ ), a bootleg copy of _The Man Who Hung Himself_ on the nightstand, and a raggedy flag from what I would assume was his university on Irune. Doran noticed me looking at it, and he mentioned that Kith had been a veterinary sciences major. _Anything to remind us of home._

Before Doran returned me to my hideout, he motioned for me to wait, grabbing a largish pillow and a silver felt tip pen from the corner of Kith’s room. He looked up at me with a sheepish pout, pointing at the stylized Spectre emblem in the center and nodding his head toward his soon-to-be-hung-the-hell-over nephew snoring on the bed. I laughed and happily took the marker, trying to come up with something profound and encouraging to write. 

_Yes, Doran. I will gladly sign this gigantic Blasto pillow for him._


	11. Hunting the Hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard learns that Bray has gone missing, and starts to admit what he means to her when she goes to find him.

A terminal blasted an alert in the window-lit darkness, and I stumbled out of bed in a time-screwed stupor, fidgeting with the chains around my neck as I answered it. _What the hell, I need my damn beauty sleep._

_Like, lastweekish._

“Shepard, answer this fucking thing faster next time.” Aria glared at me through the fuzzy vidscreen.

“Nice to see you too. What do you need?” I grumbled.

She smirked. “So, I always have to need something now?”

I gave her an incredulous eye. “Funny stuff, T’Loak.”

She shrugged knowingly. “I can’t reach or track Bray by omnitool. Is he there?”

 _(Wait, what?)_

Bray had left with Eshan, the other batarian, to connect with Maelon’s salvage team several hours ago, after a couple of decent meals and fresh bandages. I tried to protest, but he used the classic “oh hush, Shepard, you’re drunk” defense, casually waving me into bed while he pulled on his shitty armor and his shitty guns and his shitty sense of self-preservation. It wasn’t worth arguing, so I gave him a tiny dose of my morphine to keep him going out of frustration and pity.

I knitted my brows, ignoring Aria’s teasing tone. “No…he’s not.”

“Damn. Well, can you find him? It’s kind of urgent.” She didn’t seem overly concerned about my safety, and normally, this would have been an issue. But a brief recall of something Bray had said a couple days before erased any anger her attitude might have ignited.

_“…they are turning a blind eye to raiders like us in light of a few recent…and brutal…murders.”_

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “I’ll see what I can do. Any leads?”

“There’s a warehouse district about ten kilometers up from the Presidium, close to the current edge of Kithoi Ward. The tracking info I have for him ends around there. I’ll patch you into all local radio channels; you can use the omnitool in the top drawer of my desk.” Aria pointed down, and I spotted a drawer with a small key hanging out of the lock. _Intriguingly old fashioned, Aria._ Inside was a bladed Savant—it was as though mine had never broken.

“You know, it’ll be tough to stop me from keeping this thing,” I said, flexing my pale forearm in the low light.

Aria looked satisfied enough. “Deal, Shepard. Just don’t go crashing any skycars into my apartment. I've heard some enchanting tales of your driving skills.”

“Noted. Shepard out.” _How official._

At 5:51 p.m. London time, I threw on a blue hooded sweatshirt I found in a drawer and armed myself as I walked out to the landing pad, scanning for any hints of light on the fractured horizon. A few blue and yellow shapes popped out of the skyline, but nothing that indicated more presence than a couple of people. At this point, Bray could be anywhere on the ward. I’d been semi-awake when Eshan said that they had gotten “absolutely everything” from their target locations, so the location Aria gave me made a lot more sense now. It would take me about half an hour to get there if I kept to the speed limit. Though speeding fines in the Wards tended to get pretty massive outside the 8-10 kph “we’ve met our quota so you’re free to go” allowance, the well-being of two people—one more precious to me than I wanted to admit—was worth far more than credits.

_Besides, C-Sec could use the extra cash these days. I wonder what the going rate for twice the speed limit is? No, screw that, three times. Come and get me!_

I tuned my omnitool, bashing the back of the engine against the building ledge as I sped off. Most of the chatter I picked up came from civilian militia groups and the fractious remains of Kithoi C-Sec. Weaving carefully between buildings (which considering how exhausted I was, proved no easy task), I could spot a few barrel fires in alleys, surrounded by a few turian and volus shadows. Many of the turians present on this ward were associated with the Omega fleet. It was the most practical solution for them to reside up here while the Crucible team repaired the Charon relay, considering Earth’s egregious lack of dextro provisions. I saw three or four C-Sec vehicles, but none of them saw me in spite of my valiant attempts to make them notice. 

_Come on, that bitchin’ aileron roll nearly took out my headlights, guys!_

I swerved left down a deep underpass, nearly taking out a pedway in the process. This area looked as though it had once been a major thoroughfare; several tables sat under the powered-down signs, and I saw a few patrons sitting at them, many using flashlights for candles. A green salarian and two asari, one adult and one very small child, sat at one table, attempting to watch a vid on the salarian’s flickering omnitool, while three human men sat on a balcony under a torn umbrella, gesturing angrily at each other and drinking cheap beer. I wanted to pull over and tell them it would be okay _(How do I know? Because I’m COMMANDER EXPLETIVE SHEPARD, THAT’S HOW!)_ —maybe some other time I would.

“…the girl had…three more…snipe…fzzt…there…” I instantly recognized Kredak’s uniquely accented voice. _FINALLY._ I banked toward an office building where the signal seemed strongest.

“…cap…under…ffff…ssssss…MEEEEeeeeeeOOo…” 

_(Nope. Wrong way.)_

One hard U-turn, and the passenger side mirror was gone in an angry flurry of sparks, snapped off on an old Thessian-styled apartment building. Left a pretty decent dent in the stonework, too. _Well, I hope Bray hasn’t gotten *too* attached to this thing._

“…no, they…” Hard right turn. “…think…that storehouse…ways down that walk.” Maelon.

_(Warmer…)_

“Yeah, Eshan too.” Kredak. 

_(Shit.)_

“Hold, I see headlights. Be ready.”

_(Destination reached.)_

I yanked the emergency brake up, killed the lights and jumped out almost before the car skidded to a stop, falling down hard on my hip as my shotgun skidded across the dark alley.

“Someone just hit pavement, Maelon.” Sound in stereo. Kredak couldn’t be more than 5 meters away. Someone treaded lightly behind me, grabbed my hair, and pulled back before I had time to react. I froze when I felt a blade against my back. Right behind my heart.

“You even _think_ of moving, human, and I’ll end you.” The deadly, scar-trodden voice of none other than Soren. My veins visibly throbbed under the force of my pulse; I could feel the white-hot rage radiating off of him. I glanced desperately at the Venom on the ground. My next move was either going to save my ass or cause me grievous bodily harm. _Depends on how I roll on my bluff check._

“Bud, do you really wanna play quick draw with Commander Shepard?” Immediate release. 

“Oh hell. My mistake…Commander,” he said, silkily. I turned just in time to see the storm-hued salarian sheath his knife, and I released my breath so quickly that for a second, it was like my lungs were in a vacuum. 

“Kredak, Maelon, stand down,” he ordered. I noticed the flicker of a retreating laser sight as Kredak rounded the corner of a narrow alley, his biotic barrier still glowing.

“Sorry, Commander. We had no idea you were coming,” Kredak admitted.

“That and the, eh, clothes threw me for a loop.” Soren scratched his horn sheepishly.

I shook my head. “Well, that makes three of us. Where’s Bray? Aria is trying to contact him.” I folded my arms, glancing between the young krogan mercenary and the aging salarian as Kredak produced two damaged omnitools from a satchel and handed them to me. 

_No…_

“We found these a couple blocks over, next to Eshan’s skycar. It’s not good, Commander—someone shot up his engine with a grenade launcher, and a pretty decent one at that.” Kredak’s voice was flat.

Maelon’s voice crackled over my own omnitool. “Everything about this matches C-Sec’s profile on the ‘Ward Hunters,’ Shepard. There were drag marks leading out from the car. It’s clear that they took both Eshan and Bray, and judging by the lack of care taken to cover their tracks, they don’t much care whether they’re found—which means we have to act fast.” 

My eyes widened when I handed the damaged omnitools back to Kredak. I had done a little research on the murders in my spare time, using the limited Citadel intranet access Aria’s apartment had. “Ward Hunters” was the name the Citadel News Network had given to the suspects—not exactly creative, but it was just ominous enough to put every citizen on high alert. There seemed to be no similarities as far as how the victims were killed, but the horrid brutality, combined with the degree of injury the victims sustained before their deaths, was always the same. One or two watchful civilians always reported radio chatter around the time each murder was determined to have taken place, and the recordings were quickly extracted and posted on the net. In each recording, reporters noted that a female voice and a male turian voice could be easily distinguished, but I did not have the intestinal fortitude to listen to them for myself. 

The last case was reported nine solar days ago, bringing the total death toll to eight. Two victims, whose arms had been broken in three places by some kind of blunt object, were found in the factory district of Zakera Ward. But the most chilling connection with all the cases was a detail that C-Sec wasn’t sharing too openly: seven of the eight victims were batarians. 

Whoever had taken Bray and Eshan meant to kill them, and they wanted people to know it. 

Maelon sighed over the static. “Soren has hacked the radio frequencies in the area. I will move through the skywalks near my position to guide you as close as I can.”

“Get on it,” I stammered, barely containing my rage. I threw my fist into a wall, splitting the skin on one of my knuckles with the impact, and I didn’t care. Soren stared intently into the distance, his two-fingered hand resting on the opposite shoulder, his teeth gritted almost to the point of cracking. I didn’t know his history with Bray or Eshan, but it was now abundantly clear that there was one. After all, no one but he had ever addressed Bray by a name other than that or “Captain.” And no one else was so visibly dedicated to getting him out alive.

_Except me, perhaps?_

_No, there IS NO “perhaps.” Damn you, Bray…_

If I failed, I had no doubt that Soren would not. I motioned for Soren and Kredak to follow and we took off at a dead run as I hailed the sniper on the rooftops. 

“Your feet had better be as quick as your trigger finger, Dr. Heplorn.”

Maelon chuckled, his footsteps barely making a sound over the comm. “Quicker, Shepard.”

_I believe it._

I touched Bray’s Archon fragment for good luck and better aim. There burned at least one fire on this station that no one could extinguish.


	12. Remember Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The lines between good and evil blur when we're looking at people we know..."

“Make it _s l o w_ , Marcus. _Especially_ the pale one. I want to save _it_ for last.” A shrill female voice seethed with brutal exuberance over the airwaves. The ambient sound of metal and pacing feet told me we had but minutes, if that.

Before the war, I had heard of fringe gangs in the Terminus Systems who killed like this, but C-Sec had gone to great lengths to keep those elements far from the Citadel. This was something worse. Some _one_ worse. Learning their motive, while usually a task of the utmost concern to me, was getting less important with each passing second. 

_If you think we’re going to let you get to ten, you’re in for a fucking surprise._

Maelon’s guidance led us to a burnt-out distribution warehouse, which was unsettlingly close to a very clear—and vertigo-inducing—view of the jagged edge of the ward. The doors were reinforced very well, and Soren’s omnitool scan revealed a motion-activated mine on the other side of the door, so our only option was to hack them both, as using force would kill Bray and Eshan faster than we could blink.

I wanted so badly to shockwave the door off its track, to charge in and beat that woman’s head to nothing but viscera and set everything to explode in glorious color to the 1812 Overture. I wanted to take Bray in my arms while I shot the entire murderous lot in the face, and carry him out as the flames raged behind us. I hadn’t wanted to go full dark Valkyrie so badly since Garrus had been under fire on Omega, and I had never expected to want it again. A liquid inferno raged deep inside my chest. 

And, well, _I had to fucking wait._

Kredak positioned himself on the other side of the door from me, surveying our surroundings while Maelon helped Soren crack the lock and disable the mine, Kredak's huge reptilian shadow obscuring the salarians’ presence. I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly through my nose, trying to keep my head in the game. 

“We’re close, Commander,” Maelon said, placing his hand firmly on my shoulder. I stood still, in spite of how badly I wanted to wrench away, and I nodded.

“Don’t shoot to kill unless you HAVE to.” I lied through clenched teeth. It was a good lie. _The kind of lie that saves lives._

Maelon snapped his arm away when his omnitool made noise. Sharp metal and basement static. 

“AAAAAAAHAHHHHH!!!” A deep, blood-curdling scream. The wave of relief that came over me disgusted my very soul. That was not Bray’s voice.

“One down, three to go,” the female voice chirped from in front of and below us on the other side of the door. Eshan’s breath was loud and choppy, and I heard his head hit the floor. 

_His eyes…_

Soren’s fingers moved furiously over his omnitool, trying futilely to speed up the hack. 

"Thirty seconds to go, Maelon,” he whispered, a bead of sweat trickling down his face. 

Maelon took off his omnitool, handed it to me, and darted off to higher ground. He knew the stakes. Over the radio, I heard cruel singsong mutterings, and Eshan growling and crying in fear as someone shuffled their feet on the floor near him. My lip curled with apoplexy. They would have time to take at least one more eye before the lock was cracked. 

Kredak waved at me, raising his shotgun with his other hand. “You still sure about the whole ‘not killing them’ thing, Commander?”

Before I could tell him not to, Kredak switched the stuck safety off of his black blood-soaked Graal, and the shuffling inside the warehouse ceased instantly. 

_Spirits, miracles do happen…_

“What was that?” The flanging voice of a turian. I mouthed a bunch of nonsense syllables to Kredak, bouncing on tiptoe and shaking giddily like a headcase with no bones. He grinned deviously. He knew I meant to express only the utmost gratitude. _OH BUT OF COURSE!_

“Fifteen seconds,” Soren whispered savagely. Pregnant pause. Kredak started bonking his head impatiently against the wall.

“I think you’re hearing things, Aur,” the female voice chimed, sadistically.

 _No no no no NO!_

Kredak didn’t even wait for me to start waving my arms. The distraction shot from his Graal boomed like a bomb. _This kid is a bloody mind reader._

“Oh _reeeeeally,_ Tal?” the turian rebuked, turning on his heels and heading straight for the door. A loud beep signaled the disabling of the mine, and now he and at least one other were approaching fast. I tensed every muscle in my body, white-knuckling my Venom as I lowered into a crouch and ripped off my sweatshirt.

_Bring it on, you son of a bitch._

“Five seconds…” Four, three…

The door opened before the hack finished, and I sprang to my feet as Soren tumbled away. The butt of my shotgun collided with the turian’s face, fracturing his left mandible right down the middle. My body moved quickly and precisely—at this point, my mind was simply along for the ride. Losing control had never been so beautiful. One, two, three more strikes to the critical pressure points under his cowl, at his hipbone and behind his knee, and the turian slumped down the narrow stairs, unconscious. I cracked my neck from side to side, and the scar across my face became hot with bellicose tension.

_Garrus Vakarian, thank you ETERNALLY for doing so much more than teaching me how to love you._

Two dark-haired human men who looked like twins rushed out the door after their turian colleague, both of them collapsing at the top of the steps when Maelon sniped their right knees out. Kredak shot him a “what the hell, save some for me” look and blasted them in the feet with his shotgun for good measure, the force of the shot sending them both flying down the stairs. _Bit much, doncha think?_

 _Good, neither do I._

I heard the female scream with unbridled fury, but only once, and she never came up to meet us. _Coward._

When the noise died and the dust cleared, Soren was also nowhere to be found. Kredak ran around the corner of the building to scout while I crept down the warehouse steps. I saw a few flat, webbed shoeprints, but no trace of green salarian blood. _What on Earth is going on?_

A quick glance at the unconscious tan-colored turian revealed many dents and chips in his fringe and several thin, wire-patterned burn scars on the back of his skull. I gasped, and dread gripped my chest. I knew those marks all too well. They were remnants of the procedure used by batarian slavers to implant control devices in new captures. 

_There’s our motive._

“Mmmh!” A high, muffled voice. No, not just muffled… _sealed._

“ _She_ might just spare you, bitch, so you had best be good. I am not quite…so… _forgiving._ ” The last three words came out in a cracked hiss, and I smiled vengefully. Soren. I peeked down the stairs. His slender, horned shadow looked almost as sinister as his voice sounded.

“MMMM!” The shadow moved.

Soren stood tall, restraining a forcibly obeisant young human woman with dark, shaved hair. The normally blue-grey skin on his fingers was white with tension, the petite girl’s flesh denting from the force of his grip on her face and on the fillet knife against her throat. My eyes locked with hers, and all color drained from her face, only to return in an angry scarlet flush when I ran to the corner of the dingy room and pulled a nearly unconscious Eshan to his feet, throwing the severely injured batarian over my shoulders in a fireman’s carry as bright red blood from his mangled upper left eye trickled down my shirt. 

_I have seen those blue eyes somewhere before._

A single drop of blood trickled down the girl’s neck as she thrashed against Soren’s airtight grasp, her one free hand clawing at the air in a renewed show of murderous intent. I snapped away from her gaze to give Eshan over to Kredak, and ran back to Bray, sliding across the floor to get to him faster. He was conscious beneath the black cloth hood; his shallow breathing gave that much away. The dark, wet spot on the back of his head indicated that he’d been struck hard with a blunt object before being dragged by his collar, which the stretches in the fabric of his shirt and the abrasions on his hands told me. 

I touched Bray’s shoulder and he snatched my wrist, painfully cutting off the circulation to my fingers and twisting my arm around. _OK, ow, you’re incredibly strong, Bray. Come on Ciel, DO SOMETHING._ I yelled at Kredak to leave as Eshan passed out in his arms, and Bray immediately released me, his hands shaking from the force of his reaction when he recognized my voice. I tore the hood off, and the room spun when he stared up at me from the floor with unmitigated fear and relief. I grabbed him and hugged him tightly to my chest, and he threw his arm around my lower back, gripping my shirt to stabilize himself.

_I should have made you stay with me. Why didn’t you stay, you stubborn ass?_

The girl shrieked at me as I held Bray, but Soren silenced her with a painful clench of his fingers. She’d lost not an ounce of fury, but the sag in her shoulders told me she might now be willing to stop fighting him. Her blue eyes leveled with my green ones as I pulled Bray to his feet and leaned him against the wall. It was time to negotiate. 

“Soren,” I drew and expelled a sharp breath, “let her speak.”

Soren glowered at me as he released her mouth, snatching her dominant hand before she could retaliate or get away. She snarled, flecks of green blood speckling her perfectly white teeth and pink lips. I cocked an eyebrow. _Tough SOB, that salarian…_

“Ciel Shepard, you TRAITOR!” she screamed with all her might. If I hadn’t known that she wanted my blood before, all doubt was now erased.

I sighed. “Talk to me, girl…” Across the room, Kredak rolled his eyes at my too-gentle response. I turned my head towards him, _ever so slowly,_ and he read my body language, taking a nervous step backward. 

“Kredak, I thought I told you to LEAVE, kid. Get Eshan out of here NOW.” 

The energetic krogan nodded briskly and turned on his heels, kicking one of the downed humans in the face “by accident.” The girl growled when I made her less important than the departing unconscious batarian she’d almost killed. I crossed my arms, stepping in front of Bray to shield him from her savage gaze.

“You were THERE, Shepard! What, does the memory of your dead parents mean NOTHING to you anymore?” She craned her neck toward me, dreams of war dancing between her eyes.

“Or perhaps…has the lack of a batarian collar around your pretty hero neck turned you into a fucking pussy?”

I froze. _A former slave. From Mindoir…_

“Cat got your tongue?” 

_No...it can’t be…_

She sneered. “You can’t make me sleep this time, Shepard. But I bet you wish you could, huh?”

_She wants to believe. She doesn't want to be there anymore. She can't escape. They have chains. She doesn't want it to be real. You get hit for lying. When she thinks, water comes out of her eyes. Will she have bad dreams? It hurts when she...when I remember..._

_I remember you._


	13. Talitha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fermata.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: suicide. Please, please be cautious.

“Talitha…my god.” An invisible stone settled in my gut.

_The trembling mess in the docks. She’s only a danger to herself. We’ve got a sedative to calm her down, but we can’t get close to her. Good luck, Commander._

“Took you long enough, Ciel.” My name escaped her lips in a hiss, and Soren yanked on her arm, making a strange, guttural noise I didn’t think salarians could produce. Bray leaned against the wall, staring between us in wide-eyed disbelief.

“YOU!” Talitha scowled at Bray, “You look _just like it._ ” Especial emphasis on the “it.” 

“Same color, same height, same teeth. Not its voice or its eyes, but that can’t save you, batarian.” Bray withered against the wall at her words, all four of his eyelids closing and opening with the slow tempo of a sudden realization. 

_“Don’t get all cute-headed and think that he has no skeletons in the closet.”_

There was no time for secrets. I grabbed Bray’s arm and pulled him toward the entrance, and the one conscious human man gaped, forgetting about the newly minted uselessness of his legs. _Let him stare._

“Bray, go.” He hesitated, clearly still in shock despite Talitha’s obvious delusions of grandeur. I pointed up the stairs like an angry mother. 

“Now, Bray,” I spat. He shook his head, clapping a grateful, yet resigned, hand to my shoulder as he left. 

I crouched, looking Talitha in the eye. Three years ago, I had been the only thing standing between her and a long fall off the Citadel docks. She had been a problem only I could solve; a scared little girl only I could understand.

Now, I faced a defeated enemy.

“What happened to you, Talitha?”

She sneered. “You promised me I would get better. Well, you were right.” Soren stealthily twisted her arm, and she smiled wider. “I got so, so much better. I got stronger, healthier, and my brain cleared up.” 

I uncrossed my arms. “You have a screwed idea of ‘better.’ And for that matter, so did the Academy if they let you go.”

She leaned forward, Soren’s unmoving knife biting into her neck again. 

“You know, acupuncture is an amazing treatment, Ciel.” 

_(It’s like you didn’t even hear me.)_

“Thirty minutes in a dark room and everything just...vanishes.” A theatrical flourish of her head drew the blade across her pale flesh, and she did not even blink as more little ruby spheres appeared on her skin. My heart leapt into my throat.

I looked at Soren, silently pleading for mercy, but he didn’t give an inch. I had no doubt that if I took one step closer, he would lose patience with Talitha’s squirming. It didn’t seem like him to kill needlessly; though nor did it seem like him to forgive. 

A skycar pulled up outside and carried Kredak and Eshan away from the madness, and Talitha continued, ignoring my spotty attention span. 

“Grissom Academy was good to me, Shepard. I got better, I got out, I got even. More than even. I took different names, talked to different people, and, well, they came up with the rest. I’m doing the job YOU should have done, _Commander Shepard,_ ” she derided, “You, who had the power. You, who had the means. YOU, who had the _motivation._ Instead, you waited for the Reapers to show up and do it for you. 

“The batarians’ heads could have decorated all the walls in all of the ships in all of the Alliance fleets. But no—you had to wait for the machines, you soft-hearted _tunghouz._ ” I flinched at the sound of the word. A batarian on the Citadel had told me the literal meaning of this most grave insult: “one with lame eyes.” 

“Don’t try to pretend you haven’t thought about it, Ciel. Come on, I heard about the Bahak system,” she goaded.

I quickly snapped to attention and closed the gap between us, nearly touching my nose to hers. The only thing about this conversation that made any sense right now was the raging squall in my stomach. 

“Don’t. You. Dare.”

“All those batarians…all those… _things_ …”

“Last warning, Talitha…”

“…you ENJOYED killing them all! ADMIT IT, SHEPARD!”

I slammed my fist into Talitha’s cheek, blinking back tears as her flesh gave way to the force of my anger. The weight in my gut negated any and all satisfaction I might have gotten from punching her; there was no humanity left in either of us right now. Slowly, she turned her head and grinned, spitting out a bloody molar and letting Soren’s knife slice deeper into her skin. His regal blue-black eyes were still cold and ruthless.

Talitha’s gaze suddenly softened as she hung her head and relaxed her body. “See, that…that’s the person I thought you were, Shepard,” she cooed. 

_I know that voice. That’s how it sounds when you’ve given up._

“But you lied to me. You lied to humanity. You lied to Mindoir, Ciel. Why?” Her mournful eyes broke my heart in all the right places, no matter how insane she was. I had no words as I knelt in front of her, my knees hitting the floor with a muffled thump. 

Outside, a crescendo of sirens in the distance signaled the impending end to Talitha’s reign of terror, and she looked at the floor, barely containing tears behind her wistful half-smile.

“Talitha, just surrender. Please. You don’t have to keep doing this. I can get you somewhere safe and quiet,” I begged.

Talitha shook her head. “It’s no use, Shepard. I’m through running.”

I watched helplessly as she breathed deeply and carefully closed her fingers around Soren’s wrist. The hand which held the knife. 

“Thank you for offering me the chance, anyway.”

“Talitha…” My hopeless muscles refused to move.

“I don’t hate you. But I will never stop hating the people who took everything from us. And I…I can’t live with that anymore.” 

Talitha steadied herself, and Soren looked away, but he did not let go. Her eyes glittered like the full moon across a still lake. Inside, there was life, light. Peace. 

“Remember me, Shepard.”

_(Fuck.)_

“NO!” 

I lunged on all fours, but it was too late. A quick twitch of her wrist was all it took. Blood spurted through Soren’s relaxed fingers as her body fell hard onto my back and rolled off my shoulder. She shuddered once, then stillness.

The reflections of flashing red lights hailed C-Sec’s arrival as blood pooled on the concrete floor. I lifted Talitha’s lifeless body onto my chest and gently closed her misty eyes with the back of my hand, ignoring the emotionless salarian as he walked off. Blood and tears rolled down my face as I soundlessly gasped for air and cradled her in my arms, rocking her into eternal sleep. In my mind, my tears were the river down which we all travel to respite unknown—my emotion seemed far less useless this way. 

_I couldn’t save you twice. I’m not sure I even saved you once._

I heard Kredak, who had apparently returned from transporting Eshan, giving the C-Sec officers what information he could while Soren wrapped a tourniquet around the knee of the one conscious human and yelled up at the officers to “clean up this mess.” The turian apparently matched descriptions given by Kithoi civilians, as did the twin human men. No other people had been described to them, though detectives had reasonable suspicion that there was some kind of mastermind involved after the third case. They would be charged, assured a far-too-chipper male officer. 

Soren spoke nothing but brutal truth to the officers. It did not take long for C-Sec to determine his innocence upon surveying the scene, though he stated that he would not have objected to being found guilty. 

_Nor would I._

People came, people left. Lights dimmed and flashed and dimmed again. Prisoners were taken, witnesses were released, the area sealed. And with my cargo I stayed, singing a discordant requiem inside my head. 

_Where no one can hear us scream._

A sharp turian hand tapped my back. 

“Let’s get you out of here, miss.” Neither an order nor a demand. A gentle request. She just wanted to help. _Bitch._

The officer carefully extracted Talitha’s body from my arms and escorted me out, gently placing her three-fingered hand around my upper arm. As we got in her cruiser, a much more somber-looking Soren emerged, raising his two-fingered hand to me in a tense goodbye.

“I’m sorry, Shepard,” he said, scratching the scar around his neck, “Please...tell Captain Salikh I said so as well.”

*** * ***

“I need to get your name for our records, miss.” The officer whipped out a datapad before I could walk back to my banged-up skycar. 

“Ciel,” I managed, trembling.

She paused, glancing suspiciously at the blood-spattered Alliance tags around my neck, and the old cybernetic scars glowing slightly red on my cheek.

“Family name?”

I twirled them around my finger. “No, officer. None.” 

She smiled and nodded as she drove off. She knew better.

I didn’t notice Bray until he opened the car doors and stepped out into the cold, lifeless alley. _You…waited._

A plethora of emotions radiated from his shaken face: hesitation, shame, distress, appreciation, relief, sadness, fear, regret. Try as I might, I could find neither anger nor hatred—the emotions a traumatized batarian had every right to feel toward a human. 

_Or vice versa…_

But, nothing. Instead of running or drawing his weapon, he stood firm, his gaze rooting me to the ground and compelling me to listen. I stared into the neutral space behind his head as a crushing numbness saturated the air around me. Each breath felt like inhaling ice water.

Bray spoke in a low voice. “Shepard, I know why she recognized me. My father…he led the Mindoir raid. I couldn’t stop him in time. I had no idea that you…that you were…if I’d known—”

I raised my hand and silenced him. “Bray, I can’t…please.”

I had turned to go when I felt Bray’s hand on my wrist, and I looked at him. His eyes were glassed with torment; his grip strained by our shared understanding of the fleeting nature of life. He raised his hand to my face and traced the scar, pulling away the hair stuck to my skin, and I gave in to his touch.

“Stand down, Ciel.”

_I can’t give blame to you…my friend…_

_I won’t._

When we returned to Aria’s apartment, I cried in his arms as he carried me until I had less than nothing left. I let him remove my stained clothes, clean me up, and give me a sedative. As I fell asleep, he curled around me, shielding me. 

There was no shame in this. There can be no boundaries in war.

_I want no boundaries with you anyway._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am doing a bit of language research for batarian words and names. I've used a bit of a construction/de-construction of Turkish and Telugu for many of them.
> 
> kötürüm - "cripple"  
> göz - "eye"


	14. Just Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For tomorrow may never come...

I woke in a cold sweat, staring with sore eyes into the dark room as if it were going to swallow me whole. For a second, I thought it might, and I flew out from under the blankets and leaned futilely over the glass loft railing, waves of nausea threatening to throw me over the edge. The trees again. They will never leave me. So many voices. So many faces.

I slid down against the railing and wept, quietly as I could lest I disturb the peace. Bray had refused to leave my side, no matter how much I’d tried to convince him that I would only bring him more suffering. Objectively, I knew I was just spewing selfish histrionics, but if it would keep him safe, the idea was that the embarrassment of some stupid temper tantrum mattered far less than my good intentions. He had fallen asleep next to me, needing to be alone as little as I was. The ordeal had been deeply personal for both of us; and though I had not asked him the details of his strange connection to Mindoir, I knew what happened those sixteen years ago pained him almost as much as it did me. 

I shifted my weight on the floor and stared out the picture window. The sky was more captivating than ever, even through the blur of my angry tears. Occasionally, a ship or two zipped past, mostly the former Crucible crew heading planetside to resupply. A few cruisers kept formation near the Citadel, circling every axis several times per day cycle. It was no replacement for the turian fleet, but it was the principle that mattered. _General Oraka would be proud._

My vision flickered in and out as I peered further into the distance and up a little ways; at the inverted panorama of the blue, green and now black orb many once called home. Earth was so immense compared to everything else out there. I had seen those old pictures of the view from Luna, but they paled in comparison to this. In another life, I might have found it disorienting to see the planet upside down. But right now, it made perfect sense. 

Bringing my awareness back into the space around me was no easy task. My skin was as numb as my brain as I drew my gown around my otherwise naked body and rose, steadying myself on the railing. Sleep might not return to me, but at least I could be safe again. I shuffled back across the floor and climbed under the blankets, shivering when a sudden warmth spread up my arm, through my shoulder, around to my spine. I hadn’t noticed Bray embrace me, I had been so cold. I tilted to see his face. His eyes were open, and he smiled with me, gently kneading my shoulder as I nestled back into the pillow.

Bray could have left at any time; I knew he had other things to attend to. Yet, he stayed. He ran his hand up and down my back to restore feeling to my skin; and there was no tension, no expectation, no fear, no prejudice in his touch, even as emotion pooled in my eyes and overflowed. The unyielding fire in his eyes made something deep inside me ache; somewhere I thought had long succumbed to the hell the war had wrought on all of us.

As this beautiful lack passed between us, I knew. If there was only one lesson I could take from this war, it was to give thanks often, for there may not be a tomorrow. Tomorrow, the _Normandy_ could find me. Or, they could get blown out of the sky by raiders. Or, Balak could put a bullet in my brain before Aria could stop him. Either way, it wouldn’t keep me from loving the man who had pulled me from rubble; who kept me safe in spite what I had done to his people; who kept the hope alive that I might be reunited with my crew and my partner again. 

Without breaking eye contact, I rested my arm around his shoulders, taking his free hand and bringing it to my heart. I looked into his eyes and whispered to my friend, my ally, my guardian. 

“I will _never_ forget you, Bray.” The words came out in an emotional tremolo.

In the low light, I could make out pale grey tones in his dark eyes. He stroked the back of my neck, and my lips unconsciously relaxed. Frightened by my sudden release of guard, I looked away, but he kept me close; understanding without judgment, treasuring my closeness without possession. He pressed against my cheek and put his lips to my ear.

“Nor I you, Ciel.” Bray put two fingers against my earlobe, where my translator was. “Listen.” And before I could question him, he switched it off. 

The language he spoke was fluid and beautiful; the rare, sharp consonants lapping at the air like ocean waves on a calm summer night. His lips moved against my ear, imparting a message all their own, and I curled into him, deliriously mute. These words did not need to be comprehended to be understood. When the time came, I knew he would tell me what he said. 

We lay together for a time after he fell silent, simply being with each other. I cupped his cheek and pressed my lips to his forehead, lingering as long as I could. I longed for him. His breath fell warm against my parted lips, and the inch between us tortured me far more than the fear of offense. As my fingers tensed against his back, he closed the space between us. He knew. 

“ _Kulam...vati eshin, ikbiir khiliu kali._ ” He spoke against my mouth, and I pressed my forehead to his, breathing heavily as he switched my translator on to speak again in a language I knew. “Beauty...for yours, I have no words.”

A brief caress of his lips on mine was all it took to awaken me. I kissed him, slow and sleepy-like, and the corners of his mouth parted from me as he smiled. We embraced, and he buried in my hair as I wrapped my arms around his toned waist. He returned my kiss deeply, with a tangible ache in his breath that I’d not known he felt. I arched against him, and he circled my lower back and pulled me into him, his hands rough against my bare skin. The bandage over his chest scratched me as I pulled his shirt off and loosened the sash around my waist, and I slowed him, drawing a line with my lips up his neck. His arms cradled my shoulder blades as I slid over him and crossed my legs behind his back. For a moment, I saw the dark sky reflected in his eyes. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Time was a blur of sensation, skin and ecstasy as our bodies melded into each other. Our energies were raw; purified by love, and we matched pace, breath for breath. His deep voice swam through my head, and I gave up every secret I knew, in a language that only passion could understand. We twisted, we spun, we moved as one; and when we could do so no longer, we lay in the exquisite daze of a love that we both knew could not last except in this place.

Our breath still mingled in syncopated swells as Bray nestled his head against my shoulder and kissed my hand. And at that moment, as my guardian rested beside me, the name Soren had called him returned to my memory. I shifted a bit as I put my fingers to my earlobe, making sure he could see me switch my translator off. _Tell me your secret._

“Salikh.”

He smiled, stroking my cheek and pressing his lips to my forehead. 

“Beha’rai Salikh.” 

I kissed him lightly and closed my eyes. 

_Your name is a gift. I will keep it always._


	15. Impermanence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to return to reality. But what does that involve, anyway? What are they not telling her?

“Hzztt...ssssh... _BRAY_ …BEEPITY BRRP…EEEEEE… _IN_ …zzz”

“Ngggh.” Frustrated disentangling of sheets. Turns left, thrashes right, still stuck. 

_(Beha’rai Salikh is **clearly** not a morning person.)_

“Sssssss… _GET BACK_ …neeEEP… _7 HOURS_ …vvvvfff….reeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“GOD DAMN IT!” Bray shook the entire bed when he slammed his fist down on his busted omnitool. The loft’s automatic lights switching on also did not help his mood any, but his reaction did wonders for mine. I valiantly tried to stifle my laughter by turning on my stomach and burying my face in the pillow, but the tectonic shaking on my side of the mattress gave me away.

“Sound asleep, are we, Ciel?” Bray teased. I could practically hear him smirk.

“Um…*snort*…YEP! SNORING NOISES!”

Bray pounced and tackled me into the pillows, tickling my ribs until I nearly peed myself laughing.

“YOU…FUCKER!!” I managed between hysterical gasps. He was laughing too, and he slumped over, resting his head on the back of my neck as he snaked his arms around under my waist. I snickered deviously. _And here I thought you were good with tactics, Bray…_

“Oh captaiiiiinnnnn…forget something?” I wiggled my dangerously free fingers, and he froze, tightening his grip on me. 

_HA, THAT WON’T SAVE YOU, SHITHEAD!_

I snapped back and pinched his sensitive shoulder joint, and he let go, giving me just enough time to flip under him and give his armpits a good tickling. Bray straddled me, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and pulled back before I could get a good bite on his pointed ear. Even though that wasn’t enough to stop me, my uncontrollable laughing fit was. I collapsed under him, gasping for breath and swiping at him like a kitten with a ball of yarn. At this point, he was laughing as hard as I was, and I caught him when he fell onto my chest, playfully kissing the crown of his head and wiping mirthful tears from his face. 

We both knew there was shit to do. Our time was up. The rest of the team had departed the day before, having provisions to ration out and a severely injured comrade to tend to. Maelon and Soren had promised to return to cover us, which I’d not been pleased with. However, though I was beyond furious with Soren, I really couldn’t afford to look a gift salarian in the conscience. 

Bray cupped my cheek in his palm, his deep black eyes brimming with a happiness I hadn’t seen from anyone in years. I smiled giddily as he tenderly brushed his lips against my forehead. There were certain words living silently in the space between us. We both knew they were there.

 _Damn it all, we will MAKE time._

I lifted myself up and traced the _(as before unnoticed?!)_ intricate tattoo on the inside of his left arm with my finger, and he wove his fingers through my hair as I did, pulling me close. I kissed up his neck, stopping just short of his mouth, and he exhaled with a vulnerable quiver. The rhythm of his breath was intoxicating as he slid his lips across my throat, and when I thought I could get no higher, he kissed me with just a hint of cleverness.

_One more for the road, Captain._

*** * ***

The conversations we had naked under the sheets were about as unguarded as one could get. Even the sore subjects were suddenly joyful—for both of us. I was very curious about his name. Why don’t you use it, I asked. It wasn’t just for Aria’s benefit that he went full-time by a nickname; that much was clear. Force of habit, he said. Not smart to use your full name when you’re a) from a prominent family, and b) wanted for a partially-made-up laundry list of things on at least three batarian worlds including Khar’shan—just not good tactics, he added with a shy smile—the kind people put on when they’re keeping part of the story for themselves. 

I asked “what Soren’s fucking deal was,” and he was more than willing to tell me the whole story. Soren Kirosa has always been a stubborn bastard, he said, but the slavers who got him didn’t quite appreciate his brand of honesty. Bray broke through a window and “knocked out” (said with air quotes and an eye roll to spare me the _finer_ details) three batarians who were in the process of clipping his throat, and the unlucky salarian spent a couple of weeks recovering on the ship Bray was piloting at the time. Though Bray had offered to return him home, Soren refused, telling Bray that he owed him his life and could be “of service” to the then-younger vigilante. “And that, he was.” 

That was sixteen years ago, he said. I smiled. You did well and good that day, I said, capturing his lips with mine before he could blame himself for another damn thing. 

Aria briefed us through the office terminal, smugly remarking on the haphazard angle at which my gifted gown fell across my bony shoulders, my fantastically wrecked hair, and the fading dark circles around Bray’s eyes. “You two” have five hours before the Fifth Fleet and Ka— _BALAK_ touch down, she said. We looked at each other and shrugged, and Aria dug her fingers into her temples. Bray rolled his eyes and put on his best professional face, assuring his boss that we would be back soon, we have guns and salarians, and stop worrying your old-ass head. It was good enough for her. 

The shower was glorious. And of course, the excuses we made for sharing sounded like trying to conserve water because limited resources and concern for the starving children and that space is, like, big or something. _We are so damn hilarious._ Bray nearly died upon seeing the stygian shade of the bruise he’d left across my ribs, but when I prodded the newly healed wound on his shoulder blade, it reminded him that the only thing he was guilty of was getting even with this one crazy bitch who tried to kill him with salarian genius juice. 

After about fifteen minutes of messing around, I reminded the illustrious captain that I actually had a job. I had to get presentable at _some point_ if Hackett was showing up, and on my sorry account, no less. He grinned contritely and spun me around, taking matters into his own skilled hands. _Contrary to popular belief, it IS possible to make out and get clean at the same time._ And, if I dare say, I glowed. 

I spiked my hair into a dystopian faux-hawk and raided Aria’s closet for something decent to wear. I’d hoped for something simple, but all I could find were those skintight leather things she always wore. _Eh, at least the jacket and belt go with it._ Bray shot me a lecherous eye as I walked down the stairs in the embarrassingly ass-hugging stovepipes, but he couldn’t keep a straight face, turning away laughing when I brandished my shotgun in his general direction. He’d finally caved and ditched his shot-to-hell leg plates for civvies, but his broad, sinewy shoulders, combined with his six-foot three-inch height, said he could still kill with little more than a well-placed glare if he wanted to. 

I threw my newly gifted possessions into a green canvas knapsack with a hole in the side and took a few minutes to myself, gazing reminiscently out an upstairs window toward the Presidium. I couldn’t see much, but I did see a few skycars flying all zig-zaggily about thanks to the lack of lane enforcement. A couple of construction crews were working on some damaged support beams, and I grinned. Maybe Maelon and Garrus could have an epic man-off up there while I watched. The finesse shots would be best left to them anyway—for public safety’s sake and all. _Garrus, I will build us an apartment up there if I see you again. Screw zoning laws._

I touched my fingers to my chest, near the spot where my chains usually hung. 

“Forgetting something?” Bray purred behind me, lowering my tags and his visor fragment around my neck. I’d felt naked without them. I was thankful that I would always have something to remember Bray by, but the best part was that it really belonged to Garrus. I thanked him as he slipped his hand into mine. We stood in silence and I leaned my head on his shoulder, taking in a few moments of togetherness as Maelon and Soren pulled up to the apartment. The week since I woke had passed in a whirlwind of pain, camaraderie, violence and love. But though it was over, the important thing was that it had happened at all. 

Soren chose not to look me in the eye when he opened the car door for me and Bray. The look of gratitude that passed between the batarian and the exhausted salarian softened my heart a bit, and I patted Soren’s shoulder to let him know. I still was not quite ready to forgive him, but if he hadn’t done what he did, Bray and Eshan might not be alive. 

Maelon turned out to be about as skilled at driving as I was, but luck was on his side as we sped back to the keeper tunnels. _At least when HE skids, he can actually hit a parking spot._ He dove in first, assuring us there were no more hostiles left as we snaked our way down. The stench as we exited was slightly weaker than when we’d first arrived, but I still closed my eyes reflexively, my breath assaulting me in waves of shallow gasps. My knees tried their best to throw me to the ground, but Maelon caught me and threw my arm over his shoulder. 

“One step at a time, Commander Shepard.” 

After a few of these one steps at a time, I found the courage to open my eyes and I glanced at Maelon. There was nothing but raw determination and compassion in his black-brown eyes. _Mordin is truly alive in you, Doctor Heplorn._

*** * ***

It was mid-afternoon in London. Salkie sat on the ground next to the pilfered Mako reading a book, snapping to attention when we crested the hill. I tilted my head to the left trying to express confusion at his urgency when I saw Bray grin out of the corner of my eye. _Oh yeah, tilting to the left is a sign of respect with batarians. Eh, I’ll keep it._ Bray winked at me with both of his left eyes and jogged forward, handing Salkie a datapad and pointing at me. As I approached, Salkie nodded knowingly at Bray and looked me squarely in the eye.

“Shepard.” He tersely acknowledged my presence.

“Salkie.”

The exasperated batarian extended his hand to me without breaking eye contact. “Thanks.” He still held a grudge. _That’s okay._

I shook his hand. “No, I should be the one thanking you.” I released him, scratching my head. “I never got a chance to apologize for the, er, _incident_ a few years ago, so, uh just...let me know what I owe you for the…well, everything.”

He cocked his head. “Surprised a human would remember something like that.”

I grinned as I walked past him. “We do that sometimes.”

Bray snickered as he pulled me into the Mako, brushing some dust off my back and sneaking a quick kiss on my cheek.

“Well, played, Ciel.”

I blushed and punched him playfully in the arm. “It’s called diplomacy. What the hell did you tell him anyway, Bray?”

He leaned over my shoulder. “I figured that, oh, maybe mentioning how you helped save both mine and his partner’s lives might loosen the stick up his ass. You’re welcome.”

“I heard that, _Captain,_ ” Salkie quipped from outside. I gave Bray a quick culture lesson on one of my favorite human gestures: the low five. He totally earned it.

“…SSSsst…ree… _captain_ …meezzzz… _ett_ ” Crackling radio static. “… _are you_ …TiKtikTIK… _this channel?_ ” Bray rolled his eyes in frustration and smacked his omnitool. I froze.

_That’s not Aria’s voice…_

Bray moved to turn it off, but I grabbed his arm. He looked at me quizzically as Salkie closed the door behind the two salarians. _Perfect timing._ I grabbed Maelon, shoving my omnitool in his face.

“Patch me into that frequency, NOW,” I demanded, pointing at the arm of a very confused Bray. Flick, ding, whiz, beep beep, shrug.

“…tain, this is Admiral Steven Hackett of the Alliance Fifth Fleet. Do you read me?”

_They fixed the QECs._

I bit down on my hand and clenched my eyelids as I pulled my omnitool off and handed it to Bray, and I promptly started shaking. Never would I have thought hearing that man’s voice would turn me into such an emotional wreck. Bray wound his arm around my waist to catch me as he answered, fighting with the sound of the Mako kicking into gear.

“This is Captain Beha’rai Salikh of Terminus One. Read you loud and clear, Admiral.”

“Captain, good to hear you. We are two hours out. What is your position?”

Bray pulled up a rough map. “We’re located about 2 kilometers southwest of the beam, Admiral. Our company is holed up near one Vincent Square.”

“Aye aye. We will get as close as we can.” Hackett paused, and I slumped against the walls of the moving truck, trying to shoulder the weight of my emotion. Bray helped me sit down as I muffled my sobbing by biting harder on my index finger.

“Also, please inform Aria T’Loak that we have Ka’hairal Balak of the Batarian External Forces in our custody.”

_(Wait, what?)_

“Will do, Admiral.” Bray shook me gently; a gesture of reassurance. I heard the clicking of a datapad as Hackett took a shaky breath.

“One more matter, Captain: do you have any news for me on the status of Commander Shepard?”

The dam inside me finally burst. Bray leaned his head on mine as I buried my face in his neck, and Maelon and Soren gathered around us to hear our answer. Bray steadied my head with a compassionate hand as Soren activated the speaker for him.

“Alive and well, Admiral.”

The cheers that erupted in the background were deafening, even over the radio. Soren placed his ragged two-fingered left hand on my knee, and I smiled weakly at the resolute salarian, my face a hot mess of tears and puffiness and sentimental bullshit. I felt bad for these guys, having to put up with the incoherent, blubbering mess that was me for a week. I knew they understood, but that didn’t stop me from trying to satisfy that Pavlovian twitch of a smile I plastered on in front of my subordinates.

_If the Normandy ever finds me, maybe I’ll loosen up a bit._

“Does the _commander_ feel up to a public appearance, Captain?” Hackett mused with a clever upturn. He knew I was listening. Bray held the omnitool to me, and I swallowed.

“She…does…Admiral…” I barely got the words out, I was crying so hard.

The noise increased tenfold in volume. I swore I heard a cork pop. _Oh fucking stop it, people._ If Balak didn’t know I was alive before, he definitely knew now.

"Shepard…my god…welcome the hell back, Commander.”

_(Aww, Hackett, are those feelings I hear?)_

“Thank…you…sir…” I saluted the air with a shaky hand, and Maelon giggled. I saw Salkie raise his brow through a mirror when I reflexively wrapped my arms around Bray, and I let out a cathartic cackle. Sounded more like a cough, really.

“We will see you very soon. Until then…do take care. Hackett out.”


	16. Down To Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Expect the unexpected.

Aria cordoned off a room in the compound for me to breathe before the fleet landed. As much as she hated to admit it, she knew a thing or two about emotional reunions, so her thoughtfulness in giving me so much space was humbling. She, Bray and Maelon were the only ones I allowed in freely, and they were terribly considerate in their comings and goings. As much as I wanted Bray to stay, I needed time to collect my thoughts more than I needed his presence. I could only distract myself for so long.

Maelon laid me down with intravenous fluids for a bit, remarking that the sickly pallor of my skin, my shaky knees, and my elevated pulse said I needed to “think before not hydrating for 12-plus hours.” My left shoulder was also killing me from the exertion over the past few days, so Maelon re-wrapped it and put it in a sling. “Reserve flailing of arms for special occasions ONLY for the next couple of weeks,” he said with a cheeky grin. 

After a good three hours, I asked Bray to escort me, as Aria would be heading up diplomatic stuff (I snickered at the thought), and Maelon would be away in the darkest corner with the best view. He laughed and poked fun at me “for even asking” as he supported me down three flights of stairs on his arm. _God, I’m going to miss you when this is over._

I heard the whir of ships and shuttles landing at about 1900 hours, at which point Bray wandered off into a corner with my omnitool for a few minutes, grinning as he spoke. Out of idle curiosity, I looked around for the person he might be talking to, but found no busy bees in the crowd. _Who are you talking to?_ As if he could hear my thoughts, he sneaked up and massaged my shoulders from behind. “Just taking care of last-minute business,” he said, working a particularly nasty knot out of the injured one. 

We watched from a concealed space on the ground floor as The Fifth Fleet, the remaining Earth-bound Alliance troops, and those left from Urdnot Wrex’s squad—including the young, punk Grunt, and the krogan clan leader himself—trickled in, making formation outside one of the shuttles. I had to resist the urge to sprint out and greet my friends, though it was just as well—Grunt _(I LOVE YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT)_ was missing his right arm and eye, and Wrex looked like he had seen better days. A good chunk of his crest was gone on the right side, and it almost looked like the old scars across his face had been re-opened. But judging by the smiles they wore, they were beyond happy with it.

Something was different about this assembly: there were a lot more guns at the ready as opposed to being in ceremonial formation. My hunch that the shuttle surrounded by soldiers wasn’t Hackett’s was confirmed when the admiral stepped out of one just behind it. The man looked like he had aged three years in a month, but his dignified carriage hadn’t changed one iota. I desperately wanted to run to him and bounce up and down like an excited little kid, but there were matters of safety and decorum to consider.

_Maybe later, then?_

As Admiral Hackett stepped to the center of the line, the Alliance troops stood at attention while Aria strode out to meet him. The two warlords talked in hushed tones for several minutes, nodding and gesturing and plotting and pursing their lips as soldiers trained weapons on the shuttle door. It felt like the nervous bustle that happens just before the opening night of a play for a sold out house. 

_Cue lights, enter downstage right, chorus line up center left & center right, sing, laugh, dance, monologue, exeunt._

Kredak and Soren, who had been standing guard at the top of the steps by the door, relayed Aria’s all-clear signal, and Bray threw his rifle across his back by a strap and nodded confidently to me as I did the same with my shotgun. I took one more dizzied look at my oh-so-not-regulation attire, ran a quick hand through my hair, and brushed some dust off my sling. With Bray’s right arm linked with mine to keep me from falling over, we came down the steps in a show of unity that wouldn’t have even occurred to me a week ago. 

_Show time._

Every eye locked onto me. It didn’t matter than I wasn’t in uniform; I was the reason for this gathering. I subtly waved to Grunt and Wrex, the former dumbfounded at seeing me alive, and the latter…almost crying? _The hell, Wrex!_ Hackett stared like he’d seen a ghost—and until a couple of hours ago, I might as well have been. I halted Bray and stepped in front of him when Hackett approached. 

_Cue opening number._

“Atten-TION!” I kicked out awkwardly and snapped into a salute, and every soldier for a five-block radius followed suit. The lump in my throat blew up like a balloon.

“Commander…” There was a twitch in Hackett’s voice as he saluted me with a vigorous flourish and called the at-ease. The admiral gripped my hand for a bit longer than formal procedure deemed necessary, but I couldn’t have cared less about the lapse in protocol.

“Admiral Hackett, sir…” My eyes watered…yet again. _(Oh for godsake…)_ “God, I am so sorry, sir. Pardon my...face.”

Hackett smirked, the scar across his lip crinkling into an amusing spiral. “Shepard, I think we’re long past formalities here…you…shit.” He put his head in his hand, leaving his thoughts dangling in the air.

_(No no no, this just will not do…)_

“Permission to gesture freely with professional and manly limitations, sir?”

Hackett’s shoulders shook as he tried to stifle a laugh. “Permission granted.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than I snapped out of the sling, grabbed his shoulder, and threw my other arm around him. I choked up when he did the same.

“Thank you for not kicking me to the curb for that, sir.” 

“Not on your life, Shepard. Now, shall we get down to business?”

I nodded the slow nod of resignation as I rolled my shoulder and slid my arm back in the sling. “Of course, Admiral…”

_End act one, scene two._

I had not forgotten about the guest of dubious honor, but I was no more confident in my ability to keep a cool head now than I had been an hour ago. A couple marines aggressively trained their weapons on Bray _(oh yeah, batarian…)_ when he moved, but they wavered when I glowered and defiantly stepped back to meet him halfway. Maybe if another batarian stopped Balak from splattering the ground with my brains, this conflict could finally end.

_Now, for the shortest soliloquy in the history of stage performance…_

“Captain Salikh is an ally, soldiers. And as long as you’re in my presence,” my rage finally boiled over, “hell, even if you’re NOT, you WILL regard him as such AND YOU WILL! STAND! DOWN! _ARE WE CLEAR?”_

“SIR, YES SIR!” Stadium sound. Weapons dropped like rocks.

I flipped my shotgun under my good arm, then I closed my eyes to collect myself.

_“Taking worlds that should have been ours…human nobility—didn’t know such a thing existed…everyone with someone on Aratoht remembers your face…everything that has happened to my people is your fault…_

_“I can’t save my people, but I can end you.”_

When the shuttle door opened, the heavy chains held by the marines were the first clue that something was off. The two humans flanking Balak stepped out first, followed by four more human guards and two batarians in civilian clothing. The chains around Balak’s wrists were anchored by a heavy collar around his neck, and a locked steel belt around his waist was attached by breakaway links to the two marines who escorted him. As soon as their feet touched the ground, Maelon’s targeting laser appeared squarely between his top two eyes, and Aria and Hackett crossed their arms in unison as nervous muttering rippled through the soldiers. 

Bray clenched his fist as they came toward us, but when the vicious batarian’s eyes briefly met mine, my breath stopped in my lungs, smothering my angry inner fire faster than I could blink. There was only one emotion in his expression: defeat. Time froze as my weapon clattered to the ground, and the whole world stared as Captain Ka’hairal Balak, emperor of my nightmares and the sworn enemy of humanity, lowered his head and fell to his knees.

_Intermission._


	17. Forge On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _motion without sound_   
>  _ice inside the fire_   
>  _the stillness in the storm_   
>  _silence hides the sniper_   
>  _eagles come and go_   
>  _to someplace much higher_   
>  _and when the silence grows_   
>  _can you hear it, sniper?_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>    
> ~Ilaria Graziano/Yoko Kanno "Somewhere in the Silence"

In the florid glow of the setting sun, the long shadows of hundreds of Earth’s marines and the aliens who attended us created concentric ellipses around the square, not a single gap between any two people. The soft whirring of shuttles was soothing background noise to the theatrical scene before me, and the wind picked up in sync with the sound of a larger ship killing its engines several hundred meters behind us. With Aria T’Loak on my right and a now visibly distressed Bray on my left, the batarian terrorist I’d nearly killed twice spoke from the ground. 

“Commander Shepard,” Balak began in a low, exhausted voice, “on behalf of the Batarian Hegemony and all independent colonies in the Terminus Systems, pursuant to the power bestowed unto me by the full faith and lineage of my people, I hereby extend a full and absolute pardon to you, and to the crew of the SSV _Normandy_ , for any and all acts, both committed and alleged, in relation to the destruction of the Alpha Relay and the Bahak System.”

Balak was allowed to stand, and as he did so, Bray placed his hand firmly on my lower back. There was a quiver of anger in his touch.

“In light of your unparalleled service to the galactic community and your willing alliance with the batarian people in our darkest hour, we will no longer abide holding you in contempt for actions which, without question, are **the only reason** any of us live today. I…would also like to extend a personal apology for my actions on the Citadel,” he added curtly. His sincerity was palpable, which made me feel unfathomably awkward. 

Balak’s four black eyes locked with mine, and the tension between us could be cut with a knife, at least on my end. The disquieted look on Balak’s face told me he knew that as far as I was concerned, the blood of 4.4 million humans was still on his hands, even if I _had_ stopped him from plowing the asteroid into Terra Nova.

“As far as the X57 incident is concerned; Commander, Admiral,” he nodded toward Hackett, who returned the gesture in kind, “I expect no pardon and no quarter. Today, only I can own those actions. Commander Shepard, though I have no right whatsoever to ask this of you, it would honor my people greatly if…you would consider co-chairing a diplomatic summit between the Alliance and the Hegemony…and…” he glanced at Bray, who glared back at him, “the Salarian Union, as well.” 

Time passed slowly as I considered his words. Some other day, I may have ordered fire and no one would have thought twice about it. But today was history.

 _Really fucked up history._

“Captain Balak,” Bray shuddered when words left my mouth, “I humbly accept your pardon, and on behalf of the Alliance, I will attend the summit.” I sighed heavily. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather figure the rest out later.” 

Bray’s fingers clenched, pinching me a bit. I suddenly couldn’t help but remember the thinly veiled rage in his voice when he had first told me that Balak would be “visiting.” Were Bray worse at acting the part of the seasoned professional at the time, I had no doubts that he would have put a hole through the wall. 

Balak nodded. “Thank you for your service, Commander. I hope we can make some negotiations while I am in custody.” He tilted his head to the left in apology, and I felt Bray’s hand fall as applause pealed through the crowd. I stood stunned at what had just happened, the sound of cheers and boos and all manner of other things doing little to distract me. In the heat of the moment, I nearly tilted my head to the left to show respect for what Balak had just done, but Bray quickly put the back of his hand against my temple; almost a slap.

“Don’t. You. _Dare._ ” The words fell from Bray’s mouth like blood from a wound. 

Bray stared at Balak with a strategically blank expression, and the disgraced batarian captain took notice _but quick._ Aria strode forward in solidarity with her second when Balak asked his guards for permission to see us, her biotic aura casting her skin in an intimidating ultraviolet sheen as he and one of the batarian ambassadors approached. 

“Beha,” Balak addressed Bray with startling familiarity.

“I have nothing to say to you, Balak.”

“You do, though,” Balak said pointedly, retrieving a roll of papers from the ambassador and handing them to him. Bray swiped the papers and pocketed them, and Balak solemnly tilted his head to the left again and took a knee, his chains rattling against his wrists as he did so. 

“Know that I extend a full pardon to you as well, for whatever it’s worth.” At this statement, Bray nodded and left without another word, his footsteps falling heavy on the charred ground. I jumped when Aria grabbed my shoulder.

“Don’t let him get like this, Shepard. Go find him when this is over,” she whispered. Hackett shot me a questioning look when Aria affectionately patted me on the back, and I just shrugged. _Some things just can’t be explained in five seconds or less._

“Balak.” I addressed him before he could leave.

“Yes, Commander?”

“Why did you come here when you didn’t know I was alive?”

The yellow stripes on Balak’s scalp rippled with thought. “Were you not alive, Commander, I would have paid my respects to your memory before my execution.” He turned away. “This was the arrangement we made days ago. Once again, you have spared me.” He said it without the slightest hint of irony.

Balak walked back to his guards, who pulled him off to the side to stand (they stood, he knelt) in formation, not next to the shuttle, but with the marines—Maelon’s targeting laser still locked. I heard tricky male laughter off to the side.

“Well, now that _that’s_ over, shall we get to the main event?” Hackett mused. He walked to the front of the line, fiddling around in his pockets and grinning at me with a certain brand of mirth I had no idea the highest-ranking officer in the Alliance was allowed to display in public. I had no idea what to think.

“Admiral Hackett, sir?”

Hackett smirked and motioned for me to come forward, halting me and extending his arms a “line up like this” gesture to the space behind me while Aria kept me from turning around. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wrex and Grunt break off from the crowd along with a few other marines. Even though he was missing an arm, Grunt still skipped like a kid with stolen candy. 

“All right, Shepard,” Hackett began, procuring a tarnished Alliance-issued gold officers’ pin from his pocket. My heart stopped. It was… _exactly like the one Anderson wore._

_Gah, stop the world, I want to get off…_

I straightened my shoulders to mitigate a sudden vertigo as my knees quaked, and every soldier in the square straightened with me, their eyes focused straight ahead. This was no mere diplomatic summit anymore. At that moment, Bray returned, smiling at something in the distance to mask the pain reflected in his eyes. He clasped his hands as he rejoined me and Aria, leaning on me slightly to keep me from falling. 

“Soldiers, I’m usually okay with speeches, but I’ll keep it short this time as we have several others to hear from today.”

_Others?_

Hackett handed Anderson’s pin to a marine on his left, who passed it to the one next to him, and he to the next, and she to the next until it was out of my sight. I tried to follow its path, but Hackett flipped two fingers toward me in the “eyes up here” gesture. This whole thing was starting to feel like a feel-good vid with a morbid twist.

“Usually, we’d arrange a formal ceremony. But then again, we also don’t normally promote this quickly, Commander, but for you, we’re making an exception,” Hackett declared. A couple marines giggled when I pursed my lips and sighed through my nose. 

“Throughout human history, we have seen many heroes rise to greatness. From Alvin York to Jon Grissom, many have risen to meet the challenges of history, and to bear the horrors of war so those at home might see a better tomorrow. This war has left a hole in the Alliance which none of us can truly fill. Admiral David Edward Anderson was one of many who gave his life so that everyone standing here could be doing just that. His sacrifice and his legacy will never be forgotten, because we will never let it be so. That being said, I…uh…” he cleared his throat, “…well, I just happen to know a gal.” He couldn’t hold back a mournful laugh at forgetting a few chunks of his speech.

_(Oh my god…)_

“Commander Ciel Renata Shepard of SSV _Normandy,_ ” Hackett said, putting his proper face back on, “your sacrifices and your commitment, both to humanity and to the galaxy are without question unmatched by anyone this damn planet has ever produced. But don’t think you’re just going to take it from me. Let’s hear,” he held out his palm, “from you all back there.”

I swallowed hard, and my eyes widened at the sound of a herd of footsteps in the charred grass behind me. Bray put his hand against my face again, more gently this time, when I tried to turn. 

“Damn good fight back there, Shepard. Damn good. Now if we could just get some better food on this rock, it would be perfect.”

_(Grunt. So thaaaaaat’s where you guys went…)_

“Shepard, you made it…again. About time. So, uh…you and me, we’ve got a statue to pose for later, so…get your ass to Tuchanka…the place with the green stuff…you know the place.”

_(Wrex, you sound like crap, man.)_

A woman delicately cleared her throat.

“Commander, we watched the Citadel crumble with you on board. I still can’t believe you’re alive.” I closed my eyes. I knew that accent anywhere, even if it did sound like she was about to cry.

_(Dr. Chakwas…that’s…)_

“Keep this up, Commander, and you’re going to give us ALL ulcers.”

_(…who landed earlier…Adams…)_

“Though I suppose we could expect nothing less from a primitive like yourself.”

_(Goddammit, Javik…)_

“It’s not every day your commanding officer kicks some grease monkeys’ butts at poker just because she feels like it.”

_(Gabby…)_

“I’ll say! Your skills are just…superb…not unlike a few, er, other features of your—OW!” 

I bent over laughing. _(Donnelly, you crazy, insubordinate sneak, you...)_

“It’s also not every day a CO makes some random shuttle pilot feel like a million bucks.”

_(Cortez…you made it…)_

“Yeah. Or that she breaks your chin-up record. I’m taking it back, Lola.”

_(Yeah, you have fun with that, Vega.)_

“You know, that sounds like fun. Maybe you and me—we’ll have to have some kind of biotic throwdown once you and the LT here have it out.”

_(Kaidan, you imp.)_

“Hey, hey, I get to watch, Alenko. Maybe even…with drink in hand?”

_(Tali, you’re such a lush.)_

“Yeah, well, only if you take pictures.”

_(Joker…)_

“Indeed! For science!”

_(Oh, Traynor, you would.)_

“You know what, Shepard? It’s very, very hard to keep things like this from me. I’m a very good information broker.”

_(That you are, Liara…that you are.)_

Bray stepped back from me, finally letting out a hint of a smile.

“But do you know what’s even harder than that, Ciel?”

My heart stopped at the sound of that multi-toned voice, the sound of those feet walking toward me. The touch of three sharp fingers on my shoulders. That ragged breath against my ear. His rough skin against mine…

_**“Keeping you so very far from me.”** _

I spun and threw my arms around Garrus’ neck, blinking tears away as I pressed my lips hard into his mouth, giving exactly zero point zero cares what anyone else thought. His talons curled painfully into my scalp—I welcomed the sublime pain. It was like a scene out of a vid. The applause was perfect, the tears in Garrus’ bright blue eyes falling across his scarred mouth were perfect, my crew past and present surrounding me…it was all just perfect.

I looked at Aria. “You knew about this?!” I mouthed through my teeth. She smirked as she shrugged. Bray was zoned out, quietly crinkling the papers in his pocket. 

After I and my crew had collected ourselves, Garrus carefully tucked my bad shoulder back into the sling, holding Anderson’s pin in his other hand as he turned me around to receive Admiral Hackett’s final words. Hackett was laughing as he spoke. 

“Commander Shepard, do you accept this commendation?”

“On behalf of the Alliance, Admiral, I do accept,” I turned to my crew, “on the condition that none of you people ever, EVER call me ‘Admiral Shepard’ on my ship. Got it?” We all died laughing. I couldn’t keep a straight face, and neither could they. Hackett motioned for Garrus to pin me. 

_A turian pinning a human…the Council is going to looooove this…_

“Congratulations, _Admiral,_ ” he whispered as he deftly stuck me in the chest with the pin and fastened it to my jacket. I raised an eyebrow, and Garrus chuckled. 

“Come on, you knew that was coming,” he quipped. “Oh, and by the way, some men find scars attractive…” he drew his talon gently across the new scar on my face, “but they drive some of us absolutely wild. Just saying.” I stroked his fringe affectionately as I told him I loved him, and he nuzzled my hair. “I love you, Ciel. Damn it, I love you.”

Hackett quieted the noise and Garrus put his arms around me from behind. 

“Admiral Shepard: you are hereby permanently assigned to the SSV _Normandy_ , overseeing all her functions with full sovereignty as granted by the Alliance as well as by the Citadel Council. As a Council Spectre and as a sovereign unit, you and your crew are under no fleet’s command. But keep in mind that as a galactic ambassador and,” he glanced at Aria, then back to Balak, “as an emissary to the Terminus Systems and to the Batarian Hegemony, we do expect you be on your best behavior. Oh, and nominating the next human councilor when you have time.”

I laughed and saluted. “Aye aye, sir—”

“Knock it off with that formality business, Shepard. Good god, that’s an order. That and mandatory shore and medical leave for at least six months.”

“Oh, fine then!” I knew I needed the time—the chance to mouth off to Hackett was just too good to pass up. I took Anderson’s pin into my hand. _I solemnly swear that I will never polish this thing, Anderson. If the brass doesn’t like it, then…well there’s nothing they can do about it now, is there?!_

As the crowd milled, I pulled Garrus aside, nodding at Aria to keep Bray in her line of sight while I took a few moments with my partner to cry, to kiss and to stare into his eyes like an idiot. Garrus had finally ditched his armor and visor, trading it for the formal black and white piece he’d bought on the Citadel a while back. I was happy that he would have a lot more excuses to wear civilian clothing now—he looked fantastic. He took my left hand and lifted my little finger, his mandibles flaring into a smile when he saw that my ring was still there. He glanced curiously at the unmoving bead between Balak’s now closed eyes, and I grinned. Someone who might be able to give you a run for your money, I said. We’ll see, he said. Aria raised her brow at me with a mixture of impatience and genuine concern as she side-nodded to a spot away from the crowd. 

I nodded at Aria and turned back to Garrus with a sigh. “Garrus, there’s someone you need to meet.” I took Bray’s Archon visor fragment off and put it around his neck. “He gave me this to give to you. Give me a minute.” 

Garrus stared at it as I walked off to grab Bray, and I saw his eyes widen with shock when he realized what it was. Bray was staring into the distance on the edge of the crowd, having grown shy either from the commotion or from something else. I knew his few words with Balak had clearly affected him, but I also knew it wasn’t a good idea to push it. He was leaning on a burned tree near a wrecked iron fence, his arms and legs crossed like a shield. The sound of my voice startled him, but his expression remained hard. 

“Bray…” I coaxed his arms apart and grasped his hand tightly. I waved Garrus over, keeping Bray’s hand visibly in mine as he walked to meet us. He was shaking. 

Bray stared at the ground by my feet until Garrus extended his hand to him, and I took my leave, letting the two men talk as I went back to stand with Aria and then talk to my crew. I figured the two of them would have much to say, and with the _Normandy_ here on Earth, I had to ration my time carefully. It was now only a matter of hours before I would have to say goodbye. Plus, we had a quarian to get home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ciel: "Sky"  
> Renata: "Reborn"


	18. Return Someday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _You've built your life_   
>  _Above the sin_   
>  _You hold my hand_   
>  _before the end comes_   
>  _Forgiving me for what I've done_   
>  _'Till the end of days_
> 
> ~Lacuna Coil "End of Time"

As I watched Bray wander off, I wrestled the improbable sine wave of my emotions into a nice, straight line. _For professionalism and stuff._ Garrus returned from talking to him and wrapped his arms around me tightly, an expression of stunned gratitude illuminating his face. “He saved you…spirits, he saved you,” he said as I choked up and leaned my head on his chest.

“He loved me too, you know.” I curled my fingers into his clothes.

Garrus took my face in his hands, his eyes intense and candid. “He saved your life, and if I do recall correctly, he told me you returned the favor. That’s all that matters to me, Ciel.”

We stayed entwined in each other for a long time. Where have you been so long? What have you been up to? How is everyone? We asked these questions over and over as though we would never tire of hearing each other’s voices. I surveyed the dispersing crowd again, remembering that even though I was injured, on mandatory shore leave, and more than a little stressed, I still had things to do and a batarian to find. I kissed Garrus for luck and let him go. He held my hand for a minute, his free one fiddling with his late friend’s visor shard. 

“When you find Bray, **thank him.** For me, too,” he said.

My crew left to dock the _Normandy_ at the Citadel on my orders, to return for me with a shuttle in the morning. Their task was to make repairs and to find the two people I wanted to talk with about the Council position, if they were still alive. I appointed Liara as my XO—I knew she could handle it, and I wasn’t going to be aboard much for a few months, anyway. Before Aria could pull me away, I dragged a timid Kredak over to meet Wrex and Grunt—I figured that his own people giving him a stern talking-to about running with the Blood Pack would be far more effective than some shrill and squishy human with serious stress issues saying it. Wrex shook his fist at the young krogan as they walked over to bargain with Aria to take him home, prefacing many of his statements with “If Shepard wasn’t the one who brought you…” 

_Not even the Reapers could take away your chest-pounding bravado, buddy. Thank god for that._

As the stars twinkled in the midnight sky above the compound, I walked back with Aria to find Bray. Aria didn’t say much; she knew exactly where he had gone ("predictable," she said), and wanted to get me there quickly. She was convinced that I was the only one who could bring him out of this strange trance he’d gone into, and I wasn’t about to argue. If it got me a few more moments with him, I didn’t really care what her reasons were. 

When we found him, Aria gave me a friendly nudge, handing me a blanket before leaving. This is your fight, she said.

_Must EVERYTHING be a fight with you?_

Bray was standing alone on a small, empty hill south of the compound with his eyes closed, his right arm crossed over his waist and clutching the left one, which still had a hand in his pocket. He heard my approach, but acknowledged it with little more than a twitch of his shoulders. I walked up to him and sat down beside him on the blanket while he stood, letting him be with his thoughts. Emotion saturated the air like thick fog as we lingered in this strange yet comfortable tension. I didn’t even consider asking about Balak. He would willingly give up the information to me, but I knew it would be better if he didn’t. Not with words. Not right now. 

He reached in his pocket and took out the papers Balak had given him, nodding for me to take them without looking at me. They bore the dents and moisture of a very tight and prolonged grip, which made them a little difficult to unfold, so I did so as carefully as I was able. I felt a drop of water on my hand, and I looked up, expecting rain clouds—there were none. As I adjusted my translation software to read the text, I resisted the urge to try and comfort Bray as three more tears fell onto my arm.

There were three sheets in total. I pulled them apart—they almost looked like pieces from one of Earth’s illuminated manuscripts. They were incredibly beautiful: each was a piece of parchment adorned with gold and platinum foil, and each was hand-printed with very delicate yet highly pigmented paint. Around the edges were hieroglyphic-looking symbols—some of which resembled the tattoo under Bray’s arm, and none of which my software could translate, but that didn’t diminish their beauty in the slightest. Commissioning something like this in this day and age must have cost a small fortune: these fine tactile arts were only practiced by a few in any given culture anymore, and given how few people remained in the ranks of the Hegemony, it was likely that one artist was all that remained. 

In the upper left hand corner of one page was a circular emblem. It almost looked like a brush-painted dragon of some kind—I recognized it from some classified documents Jacob Taylor had shown me when he was aboard the _Normandy._ Former batarian ambassador Jath’Amon had quietly presented the Council with similarly embellished pieces almost two years ago when he requested a formal audience—this was the symbol the Hegemony stamped special documents with if they came from Khar’shan. _(Or at least what is left of it…)_ From what little I knew about batarian society, they didn’t hold to a lot of old cultural traditions, but paper documents still made an appearance for certain momentous occasions. These were no ordinary notes. 

The two other sheets bore a similar symbol, but the outlining was thinner and slightly more angular on each one. The subtle print under one read “Salarian Union Capital of Sur’Kesh.” Under the other, just three bone-chilling words: “Colony of Aratoht.” Underneath that, both of them were printed with the words “Issued from the Solemn Guidance of the Khar’shan Executive.”

My software translated the dates of birth and death for three women into Earth standard time notation.

_The Esteemed Vaile Edan’eva Salikh  
7.11.2129 – 8.20.2167_

_Airye “Rai’ki” (Rashk’eva) Salikh  
6.2.2153 – 7.3.2180_

_Emiel Rashk’eva Salikh  
9.8.2147 – 9.9.2185_

_His last name._

I carefully placed the ornate parchments back in the grieving batarian’s hands, the gravity of what he had just allowed me to see sinking in as he carefully re-pocketed them. He noted my distressed confusion. It’s a very long story, he said. Maybe in the future, over a half dozen drinks, he added, laughing in a guarded baritone as he wiped tears from his face. I nodded and rubbed his leg affectionately, leaning my head against his calf.

_You don’t have to say anything._

After a moment, he sat next to me, smiling weakly out of the corner of his mouth. He put his arm around me, and I leaned into him, trying not to let my emotions get the best of me as he kissed my hair; the quiver in his lips and his uneven breath telling me he was doing much the same. The thought of leaving him like this killed me.

 _“Beha’rai…”_

At the sound of his full name, Bray inhaled deeply and turned his face into my shoulder. He made no sound, but I felt the cloth of my shirt grow wet with his tears as I wrapped my arms around him. Much like change and the speed of light, grief had become a universal constant since the Reapers came. Most people couldn’t help but wear their burdens on their sleeve anymore, but Bray was just not one to do that. There was something intimate and tragic about being in this moment. I knew I could never fully understand his pain, but I could at least be present.

I turned my palm up to him, and he took my hand in both of his, holding it to his forehead just like he had when I’d first woke. As the stars shone lazily over us, my heart broke at the realization that this may be the last I ever see of this incredible person whom I had come to love and respect. I couldn’t really explain why the two of us had connected like we had. The easy answer was that the gravitas of continued existence was what brought us together, which in the beginning, it was—there are few things in life that bring people closer than a brush with death. But when I looked at him, it didn't play into my thoughts at all. I just felt as though I’d known him forever. And I always had. Nothing could hold a candle to that. 

I pulled the blanket out from under me and draped it around our shoulders, letting Bray be still with his prayers as I leaned against his shoulder, exhausted from the day past and the long days to come. I even caught myself thinking some of my own before I fell asleep. 

I woke with a slight start when Bray laid us down in the grass, draping his arm across my chest. He shook me reassuringly and opened his eyes, and I took his hand and looked up at the sky, the dawn just starting to break over the horizon.

He leaned his head into mine. “Keep in touch, Ciel.”

I let out a laugh. “You can count on it, Bray.” I paused at the sudden tingle of an idea. “You know, if somehow you ever get tired of Aria’s bossiness, there’s always a place for you on the _Normandy._ ”

He grinned. “I’ll let you know. You give dental?”

We both laughed. “For you, I might,” I said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This (finally) links briefly back to my other short thing, "In a Name."
> 
> In my batarian headcanon, all children of upper-class/caste families take their father's name as their middle. Bray's father's name was Rashka. His middle name is "Rashka'tol" or "son of Rashka."


	19. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is never an end <3

_**Three years later** _

Getting away from the _Normandy_ was nice. I could only deal with so many meetings in a stretch. My crew (or, more specifically, I) hadn’t seen a lot of combat since the war ended, and while that was a welcome change for me, it was still sad to see many of them leave for months at a time. We all spent less time on the ship these days; most of us, particularly myself and Garrus, called the Citadel home on a more permanent basis. Tali kept her “vas Normandy” surname. Even though she had a homeworld now, she was more or less an ambassador for her people just like I was, so she still spent a great deal of time on the ship, and for that I was grateful. 

Liara and Javik wrote their book, published their book, and couldn’t stand working apart after it was over. Together, they were the Shadow Broker, running half their operations from the _Normandy_ , and the other half (somehow) out of Liara’s new apartment on Illium. They remained coy on their personal life, though we all saw through their ruse. Kaidan spent a great deal more time with his students than he did on the _Normandy_ anymore, but he ran several Spectre missions out of the ship—some of them with me if I was medically/psychologically approved for it. His companionship meant more to me than I could ever say in polite company.

We even acquired a couple of new additions to the crew. Kolyat Krios contacted me a couple of months after the Crucible, asking for transport to Kahje to scatter Thane’s ashes over the seas, and he ended up sticking around. Turns out the kid was one hell of a diplomat, and not a bad shot either. Maelon also contracted out with us quite often, as his clinics on Omega are pretty well-staffed these days. Out of the past 30 months, over a third of them were spent with us on the _Normandy._ Everyone loved having him, especially when we visited Tuchanka, where he was regarded with almost the same esteem as Mordin Solus himself. After he met Wrex and Bakara’s five eldest children, Mordin, Maelon, Shepard, Garrus, and Liara, he didn’t sleep for a week.

I caught no small amount of flak, understandably, for my choice for the human councilor. Many said I should just take the job, but I rebuffed the masses every chance I got. It was time to let the nomadic minds of war disappear for a while. Commander Bailey laughed in my face and flat-out refused when I asked, as I had suspected he might—but his thanks for the offer surprised me at the time. He was quite good-natured about it though, and very eager to hear about the results of the deliberations.

Though it took a lot more convincing than I had planned, (as well as a few nice dinners and reassuring pats on the back) things worked out wonderfully with my second choice. It was well-known that she had let some misguided, ill-thought ideas get the better of her in the past, but the war had made her very wise. She was certainly no politician, but her compassionate spirit and unfettered dedication to humanity were second to none, and her brash perspectives were greatly needed, especially with the old guards Tevos and Sparatus still on the Council, and brand new volus councilor Din Korlack being curmudgeonly as always. Valern passed away of old age a few months after the end of the war, and his replacement, Esheel, was a fiery dalatrass who gave no quarter to slackers. Much to everyone’s surprise, the new human councilor’s undying work ethic impressed the hell out of Esheel right out of the gate. I think her quote read something like “Finally, we may actually hope to get something done up here.” 

In her early years on the Citadel, she made few friends with other races. But being on the Citadel when the refugees began pouring in was an eye-opening, heart-wrenching experience, she told me. A salarian documentary maker, who knew of her through interviews with me, tracked her down and asked her to be a collaborator on his projects, as she had higher security clearances, was great with camera work, and could be a very eloquent speaker, “especially for a human.” The salarian, or rather “my dear friend Solik,” as she put it, died in a firefight that broke out in one of the holding docks, but they had made a pact weeks before to keep the work alive should anything happen to the other. And that, she did. Their war films are still widely screened to this day. Though it caused quite a stir when I announced that she accepted the position, but no one, not even the illustrious Commander Bailey (who gave her a sleeping bag as a swearing-in gift), could argue three years later that she wasn’t the best pick for the job. 

Councilor al-Jilani is quite the stickler for deadlines, after all.

*** * ***

I snapped out of my mental musings when Garrus poked me. The summer skyline of Illium’s capital, Nos Astra, had changed surprisingly little from the war, but the neon was still distracting as hell. Many of the curved skyscrapers had been damaged, but there was no shortage of cranes on the horizon rebuilding them and putting up new ones. It had become quite the galactic hub since the end of the war, much to the dismay of the Nos Astra government. Compared to other highly-developed worlds, Illium had sustained a very small amount of damage, and many refugees trickled in as transport started to become more widely available.

Garrus mussed my dark red hair, which I’d let grow to my shoulders in the past couple of years. I’d forgotten how much of a pain the natural loose curls were to maintain.

“Ciel, I think I found her. Um…” He paused, pointing off to the left somewhere.

“Who, Caelia or…?”

Garrus laughed at my space-cadettery, pulling wrinkles out of his blue and black civvies. “No, you dork, Liara and Javik took her an hour ago. I mean Bray’s contact.”

I raised my eyebrow at him as I turned to look. “You make this sound like a job, Vakarian.”

“You know me…” Garrus linked his arm with mine, turned me around, and pointed to a gangly young human girl snoozing on a bench. She could not have been older than 13 or 14—just a few years older than Garrus and my adopted turian daughter, Caelia. Her face was partially buried in a cloud-like poof of curly black hair, and the dark freckles across her porcelain skin almost looked like they had been painted on her face. In her hand was a piece of bright green paper that read only “Ciel.” I laughed and walked over to her.

“Hey, um—”

“GYAAAH!” I flinched when she started awake, “…ohh…uhm…can I help you, ma’am?” She sat up, rubbing her big, cat-like hazel eyes blearily.

“Hehe, well, I believe, young lady, that you can actually help me.” I poked the piece of green paper with my name on it, and Garrus shook his head. If turians could smirk, then yes, he definitely was. The girl cocked her head at him, and looked back to me, then once more at both of us as a wide smile of recognition spread across her face.

“Oh, you must be Bray’s friend! I’m Nanase Toragishi, it’s very nice to meet you, Ciel-san!” I blinked, surprised that Bray would send some human girl to look for me. He _had_ been a little sparse on details in his message, but he had mentioned that “an old and dear” friend of his would be picking us up, so I’d been expecting at least a grown-up looking person of some kind to show up. _Oh well._

I shook her hand, and she bowed a little. “That’s me! And this is my partner, Garrus. Nice to meet you too.”

Nanase stood up, her deceptively long hair flying about in the breeze as she collected her school bag from the bench. “Come on, _okasan_ is waiting for us at the transport.”

“Wait, are we actually going to Omega?” Garrus asked.

“Ha ha…no, silly! Bray comes to Illium every few months or so. Well, at least he did before the war. This is the first time he’s been able to get away from Omega in about four years. He comes to see my mom and me; and Oya too, when she’s not being annoying.”

“Oya?” I asked.

Nanase smiled and jogged backwards on her heels into a two-way corridor with automatic walkways. “His sister. She’s an indentured servant broker, so they don’t get along all the time. Anyway, we’re going to our place—he’s meeting us there. Probably asleep on the couch; he just got in yesterday.”

“You guys seem to go way back,” Garrus observed.

Nanase nodded. “Mom,” she slipped back into more casual language, “has known him since she was…18, I think?”

The three of us stepped onto a busy transport terminal, and a short, slender woman with short, spiked black and blue hair, tan skin, a pierced eyebrow, and more than a few tattoos on her arms and legs, waved at Nanase and smiled at me and Garrus. She looked as though she was my age, maybe a bit older. This must be Nanase’s mother: they had the same round jaw, sharp feline eyes, and thin fingers, though Nanase was already taller than this woman was by a head and a half at least. As her daughter skipped over, the woman bowed and waved us into a red skycar.

“He’s told me a lot about you, Garrus, Shepard,” she said, knowingly.

“Um…actually…yeah, can she not use that name in public—ow!” Garrus’ mandibles caved in mock indignance when I elbowed him in the ribs.

Nanase whipped back and gaped at me as her mother started the car, her funny forest-maiden hair falling sloppily around her round, be-freckled face. “Oh my god…are you really,” she put her hand to her mouth and whispered, “Admiral Shepard-Vakarian?”

I laughed at hearing her say that, even though it had been my legal name for two years. _News still travels pretty fast these days._

“Well, yeah, but keep that on the down low, would ya?” 

Nanase zipped her lips, and Garrus laughed. 

“So, so glad I missed being Primarch by a hair.” I leaned on Garrus’ shoulder and nudged him. He knew what I meant to say. 

Nanase’s mother adjusted the side mirrors and merged into the lane above. “Bray is waiting for us back at my place. I’m Ai, by the way, Admiral.”

“Nice to finally meet you, Ai. You can just call me Ciel.”

Ai cackled in a delightfully girly way. “That’s what Bray always calls you. The first time he actually mentioned your last name, I almost had a stroke—not gonna lie.”

“He talks about me that much?”

“Oh, absolutely! He’s always been able to read people like a book—and if he likes someone, you can’t shut him up. And he adores you and Garrus both…you do the math.” Ai shook her head fondly, and I saw her grin in the side mirror. “Ask him about Airye sometime.”

I remembered the name from something he’d let me read years ago, and I raised an eyebrow. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

Ai smiled. “Trust me, he _needs_ to be asked about her. More than he will ever admit.”

Garrus nudged me, widening his eyes for an explanation as Ai pulled into a long, empty free lane leading over and away from the lavender glow of the business districts. I had told him a lot about Bray, and all of us had messaged back and forth quite a bit in the past three years, but neither of us had ever mentioned the specifics of the parchments he’d shown me.

Ai noticed Garrus’ surprise. “He has that effect on people.” 

_(That, he certainly does…)_

“Nana, can you turn the radio on low?”

We drove for a good hour away from Nos Astra’s busy port to reach a modest-looking residential district. It was actually quite charming: full of trees and flowers and old-fashioned street lamps, and several humans, asari and quarians (even a few batarians) mingled below at a few cafes, shops and arcades. It reminded me a lot of a homier, quieter Silversun. Ai pulled into the fourth floor of a fairly low building and parked in front of a sprawling apartment with a lot of windows. 

_“OIJISAN!”_ Nanase yelled through the open door at a seated man with salt-and-pepper hair, who rose with a wide smile complete with crows’ feet radiating from his eyes like sunbursts to greet his enthusiastic granddaughter. Ai looked past them, and a taller someone rose _(Wow, Bray, you look…OH MY GOD HI!)_ , greeting Ai with a familiar one-armed hug as Garrus watched me yank my ridiculously long red skirt _(remind me why I wore this stupid thing again?)_ loose from the skycar door. Bray released Ai to shake Garrus’ hand as I tripped over my own feet, and they both laughed.

“Dignified as always I see, Admiral,” Bray quipped.

I raised an eyebrow to the smartassed batarian. “You’re just lucky I’m not armed, Captain.” Bray and Garrus exchanged a furtive, wordless question and answer before he strode over to me and threw his arms around me, and I did much the same, grasping his broad shoulders as he lifted me off the ground and kissed my cheek. We lingered for a bit—it had been over two and a half years since I last saw him. _Wow, you smell good…_

He nodded me and Garrus inside and closed the manual sliding door before sitting back down opposite Ai’s father at a low table, which was half-covered with black and white stones.

“It’s your move, Bray,” said the old man, before turning to shake my hand and introducing himself. “Toragishi Haruto. It’s an honor, Admiral Vakarian.” Garrus sheepishly scratched the back of his head at the sound of his name used in the singular, and I winked at him. 

Bray picked up a small white stone between two of his fingers and pensively stared at the board, his upper eyes scanning around while the lower two stayed firmly in place. 

Nanase flopped down on the couch next to Bray and her grandfather, half watching the game and half buried in a couple datapads full of calculus problems. _Wow, smart cookie._

“Surprised you’re giving him white this time, Dad,” Ai said as she strode into the kitchen and opened the fridge. 

“He won by 14 points in an even game last time. I’m not about to let that happen again,” Haruto said sternly, as Bray placed a white stone on the right side of the board.

“ _Atari,_ ” Bray said with a smirk. Haruto’s shoulders slumped, and Ai chuckled. At this, Garrus curiously leaned over the counter and asked Ai about the game. 

“Go—it’s kind of like Kepesh-Yakshi, but without the punishment shocking, and you have to use your imagination a bit more,” she said. Garrus nodded in approval as she slid a dextro beer across the kitchen counter. _Aww, someone was prepared!_

I had heard of the game before, but I had never really played or learned the rules. I was bad enough at chess and this seemed infinitely more complicated than chess. It took the two men twenty minutes to finish, and they filled in a few empty spaces with the stones they had taken off the board during the game. “Why do you do that?” I asked. 

“It makes point counting easier,” Bray said as he did a quick tally of three of his opponent’s three grids while Haruto counted Bray’s two slightly larger ones. The end count, with 6.5 points added to white’s score because white has the second player disadvantage, Haruto said, was white 31.5 to black 24. "Close game," Bray said, extending his hand to his opponent, who shook it, bowed and thanked him for the game.

“There’s a first time for everything,” Haruto conceded.

Bray nodded. “Well, I had some pretty decent teachers. Nana, why don’t you teach Ciel how to play? Give her the 13 by 13 so she doesn’t get too scared.” Before I could throw up my hands in protest, Nanase thumped a smaller board down on the larger one with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“All right, cadet, show me how it’s done,” I cajoled.

*** * ***

Getting my sorry butt schooled at a board game by a 14-year-old girl genius was just one of the highlights of the night. After Nanase went to bed, I couldn’t help but gush to her mother about how brilliant she was while Garrus nodded in agreement.

“Ha, she definitely didn’t get that from me!” was her reply. At this, Bray punched Ai’s shoulder, and she threw up her hands. 

“Of course she did,” her father rebuked, “Her _sire_ was dumb enough to let you have her all to yourself.” He pulled a cheap photo print off the top of the fridge of an off-duty Alliance marine with a wild shock of curly red hair and a smug grin. “I do my research,” he added.

“Haru-san, take Ciel to the studio, would you?” Bray said with an even smugger grin as Ai shot him a friendly glare. Haruto motioned me down a narrow hallway beside the kitchen while Bray took Garrus down another one near the living room, dragging a protesting Ai with him. Though it was hard to tell over her nut-colored skin, she was blushing up a storm. 

I walked down the hall, and Haruto motioned to a triptych of startlingly detailed abstract works on a wall across from the entrance to a greenhouse. One reminded me a lot of the planet that Garrus, Zaeed and I retrieved Grunt’s tank from, and I let out a “huh” under my breath as my eyes fell to the title. “Korlus,” it said, printed in extravagant cursive letters with a few Japanese characters underneath that my translation software read as “ko-ru-a-su.” The other two read “Benning” and “Jaëto.”

“Those only took her a few weeknights a piece,” Haruto said proudly, waving me back to another room as I extracted my jaw from the floor. He led me into a huge studio, which was covered with paints, inks, pencils and all manner of papers strewn over about five different old wood desks and two or three folding tables. The walls were covered with drawings, paintings and stencils of every sort, tacked up by anything Ai could find in the junk drawer. One sketch on the north wall caught my eye, if only because it was hilarious. The almost-photorealistic drawing depicted a wiry batarian asleep and drooling on the floor next to a few too many liquor bottles, with a familiar disgruntled-looking salarian sitting on top of him with his chin in his hand, almost like he’d been forced to do so. I laughed under my breath. 

_Grumpy Soren is grumpy._

My eyes wandered to a table just under the drawing, one covered in small ink pots of every color, some clearly having been mixed with others. _Tattoo ink._ Next to the pots, there were eight different machines of various shapes and sizes laid out in order of their length. Some looked like the ones I’d seen Vega subjected to, but a couple didn’t resemble anything I was familiar with. I saw an engraving that looked like a signature on the outside of a couple of them. Looking closer, it was obviously Ai’s. 

_She BUILT those?_

“You should look inside,” Haruto said, pointing to a huge, tattered binder leaning against the wall. I grabbed it, clenching it shut as some of the plastic pages began to fall out. The designs inside were brilliant. I clearly recognized some stylized turian colony markings, a couple of Blue Suns logos, some cheesy old-style North American pinup pieces, and some watercolor-looking designs. Words from every language imaginable were scrawled onto several stencils, all of them with notes beside them to remind the artist of her purpose in putting them on the person’s body. 

But what really caught my eye was the design in the center of the book. This one was protected by two layers of laminate and a vacuum-sealed, heavily reinforced page—by far the most well-preserved piece in the book. An advisory embossed into the seam on the side read “flame retardant” in an asari dialect. Ai had scribbled a few notes about the design and put them in with the stencil, all of them on coffee-stained paper napkins and a couple of yellowing notebook pages, both torn and crinkled with well-defined fold lines. The words had begun to fade from age before Ai had sealed them inside, but I could still see that “regal batarian hieroglyphics” and “Airye” appeared more than once. I looked up from the page in disbelief. The design was Bray’s.

“Admiral, if it’s not against regs, I would be happy to work on something so you can match this delightful turian here,” Ai quipped from behind me in the doorway. “Not to the letter, of course—harsh lines wouldn’t suit you very well.”

I saw Haruto shudder a bit at Ai’s statement, but the grin on Garrus’ face as she studied the blue markings across his jaw and cheekbones erased all my cares. “First Contact,” she mouthed behind her hand. Bray patted Garrus’ shoulder and walked over to me, looking reminiscently at the drawing above Ai’s desk. 

“I swear that salarian’s never going to die,” he joked. I saw Ai put her face in her palm and shake her head in agreement as she walked over to a table on the back wall and grabbed some tracing paper and a felt-tip pen.

“I think more drinks are in order, guys,” she said, nodding her head toward the studio door. We all mumbled in agreement, and Ai put her hand on Garrus’ cowl and shoved him out the door (as well as she was able to with her Lilliputian height), eager to trace his markings. As I walked out, I felt Bray’s hand on my waist and almost tripped over when he yanked me against him coquettishly. He shot me a wry side-smile, playing it coy as he rubbed my shoulder and motioned me down the hall.

_Damn it, you._

Garrus sat at the kitchen island, messing with his omnitool while Ai covered the scarred half of his face with tracing paper and Haruto dug around in the fridge. When I sat across from him, he quickly finished what he was doing and glanced at me from behind the paper.

“Ciel, Liara is coming in an hour so we can get Caelia her meds,” he said. I couldn’t help but sigh when Garrus suddenly reminded me that I had parental duties. My heart sank as I tried not to look at Bray. _I missed you so much…I can’t just go now…_

“Ok, that sounds fine,” I said, my face crinkling in disappointment. Garrus and Bray laughed at my crestfallen expression, a secret hinting between the two men, and Bray casually put his elbow on my shoulder.

“How’s your shooting arm, Ciel?” he asked.

“Huh? Why?”

“Armali Council happens to have a combat simulator a few blocks down, and I hear you’re pretty decent in the arena.” Bray looked at Garrus. “Vakarian, would you mind terribly if I borrow your partner for the evening?”

Garrus crossed his arms confidently as Ai slapped the paper on the other half of his face. “Bray, haven’t I mentioned more than a few times that you saved her life? Almost singlehandedly, even? As far as I’m concerned, you can borrow her for a week if you want. No restrictions.”

I looked between them and threw my arms around Garrus’ neck like an excited kid on her birthday. Ai bent over laughing, dragging a sloppy purple line down the page as she did. 

“Do check in though, would you? You know how Liara worries,” he added as he nuzzled my face.

Before I could respond in the affirmative, or wave goodbye, or anything else, my feet were swept out from under me as Bray threw me over his shoulders. 

“HEY!”

Garrus and Ai waved to us, the tattletale grins on their faces telling me that, once again, I’d been had.

“Oh, and you need some goddamn pants. What are you doing in this thing, anyway?” Bray quipped, brushing my skirt out of his face as he unceremoniously plopped me down in the front seat of a rented skycar.

Bray drove us a few blocks down, hastily parking in a shadowed green space on top of a complex and killing the engine. I raised my eyebrow as I leaned across the middle and looked him in the eye.

“My shooting arm, eh, Salikh?” 

He placed his hand on mine, not quite gently, as he leaned into my ear and played with my longer hair. “Oh, in time.”

“God, I missed you.” I forcefully put my arms around Bray and kissed his neck, hard. For old times’ sake, I reached to his ear and quickly switched his translator off, to blurt out some impulsive words in a way that wouldn’t scare him. _I’ll just qualify my bullshit with a sheepish grin._

As soon as they left my mouth, he surprised me by taking my face in his hands and kissing me, slowly and tenderly. When we parted, I smiled at him with a confused wrinkle. He laughed and switched it back on.

“I know what you said,” he said in a hushed voice.

“Oh?” He smiled and switched my translator off in return, keeping his gaze locked with mine. And with not even the slightest hint of an accent (I now understood why), the words came. 

“I love you, too.”

_The best answers are always the short ones._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe...
> 
> This has been a great ride writing this. I'm a little sad it's over, but a big thank you to everyone who read it. I LOVES YOU!!! <3


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